How the Row was founded
by REwriter22
Summary: Saints Row didn't come from humble beginnings. Its inception came from the minds of two Sunnyvale boys, Julius Little and Benjamin King, and that idea guided them for years to come. Los Carnales were the pioneers of gang dominance in Stilwater from the late 60s until the late 1980s when their power was tested by five purple soldiers. This is how the Row was founded.
1. Chapter 1: The French Connection

The French Connection

It's a fickle thing memories are. They can never be forgotten, but they can be repressed, alter certain shapes and events to allow the thinker to sleep better at night. Seventeen years is a long time to hold onto memories that should have been buried with those involved. Not for Armando; he would have loved nothing more than to go on living like an outsider from his Saint brethren, to live with his brother. However, the things he did for the sake of being with someone who understood him better than his friend Antwon did, he was not ready to put his past to bed just yet. He sat in Drew's underground sauna feeling energized as his brain took him to the first memory he had when he became a co-founder of Saints Row.

1986: The year where Stilwater's inhabitants were all live and let live with themselves, and not worry about what was going to happen to them in the next few minutes. Throughout the '80s era, the city didn't thrive on fear, not in every street corner anyway. There were those who took their newfound freedoms and use it as a way to inspire people to never be ashamed of what they were. Not that anyone needed a reason to be proud it was just good that they had one. This inspiration started with a burnt out Church, the color purple, and two educated street kids from Sunnyvale Gardens. Julius Little and Benjamin King had been friends since the MC Gonzalez days of '76. Although they didn't always see eye to eye on running a crew together, they had enough street smarts to make their ideas work.

The inception on becoming a symbol for Stilwater was never quite known among the Saints of old and recently canonized. It was a story Julius only told Benjamin. The year 1981 was where they got their start. They left Sunnyvale after driving back the Carnales with just four street kids and Ben's hardened father, Eric. They went into the heart of gang territory. 3rd Street was originally a neighborhood controlled by an enforcer named Victor of Los Carnales. It was no secret the Carnales were the oldest and most powerful gang in the city.

They had their fingers in everything: drug trade, sex, weapons, politics, and with all that power coming from the Colombians as their backbone. Alejandro Lopez, the founder of Los Carnale, was an unapologetic leader who spoke with more than just his bare fists. His two sons Hector and Angelo stood by his side as they invoked fear to those who didn't follow their order. It was becoming too extreme for most people so towards the end of 1984, after Christmastime, Julius and Ben thought it was best to start an uprising against them. Granted, other street kids who got the short end of the stick from the Carnales wanted to go to war with them too, but that train of thought ended up with them in pieces inside garbage bags.

This was where the conflict between Julius and Ben started. One wanted to rally as many street kids as possible, teach them to think before leaping, and when all the angles are figured out, strap up and go to war to show not everyone in Stilwater was afraid of them. Ben had another angle that required three main components his father instilled in him as a young boy: Build, watch, and act. Julius had a personal hatred for the Carnales, but he put that to the side for the sake of keeping their idea alive. For a year and a half, both explored Stilwater for all it had to offer, to get a feel for the struggle and potential if they were to run things that benefitted the people rather than themselves.

They met and rolled with some good people along the way; Armando and A.J. being the first two to have been approached by Julius. They managed to graduate High School by the skin of their teeth without so much as a goal on where to go in life. Another one who grew up in the projects named Denzel Tate was approached by Benjamin. He had the build of a Football player and a laid back human being to not get mixed up in drama. Another one Julius found in Chinatown; he steered clear from him due to his appetite for guns and joyriding without a care in the world.

From late 1984 to mid-1986, it was just Julius, Ben, Denzel, Armando, and A.J. living at the Church on the Row. Together, they retook the neighborhood and drove Victor back to the Carnales. It wasn't easy on their end, knowing Victor somehow had the ability to soak a lot of their bullets like a sponge. Luckily, thanks to some ingenuity and a rocket launcher by Julius, they were left with an open street corner with dead bodies laid in their wake. It wasn't much, but they had a roof over their heads and most importantly supporters who saw change happening in a positive way.

There were worse places to call home, and they just ran out the worst of the worst to make a new one. Tonight was the night Julius told Ben as they were looking at a bulletin board of the Lopez family tree. Street gossip was a beautiful thing since the takeover on 3rd Street. Grateful sources have been walking up to the Church on Sundays for their morning prayer. They have also fed rumors about Alejandro Lopez throwing a lavish party at his mansion; for reasons they didn't know yet. It was by the airport which granted the Saints a few side entrances to sneak in. However, Ben wanted to do what they were about to do without getting dirt on their cufflinks.

"You know going through the front door is a bad idea, right? That's usually my plan." Julius said.

"I got it all figured out, man. If we play this right, there won't be any blood on their expensive floor." Ben replied looking at the Lopez profiles.

"Wearing a suit isn't my thing; too constricting. I'm still reeling from that goddamn spine injury Victor did to me."

"One of these days, you gonna have to get your hands dirty and start looking at the big picture, Jules. One neighborhood takeover isn't going guarantee respect from the people. We still got to prove our colors are a symbol of progress."

"Yeah, but why purple? At least green would show we're not a couple pansies looking for handouts." Julius sighed sitting down, thinking things over. "Maybe I'm overthinking it. I mean, it's not like they're gonna recognize us since we wore bandanas over our mouths that day."

"See, positivity does wonders for your thinking. Keep that up, and I don't have to hear you complain about getting gray hairs on your head. Look, the first part of the plan is simple." Ben said laying the floor plan of mansion. "We go in tight, get a feel for our surroundings, and enjoy a shrimp cocktail before we dash. But first we need that shipping manifest which should be in Mr. Orejuela's office."

"I'll get my nigger A.J. on that." Julius suggested. "Put a suit on him, people will think he's from Harvard."

"Cool, Armando will back him up if Manuel doesn't buy it. Big D and I will observe the other silk suits and their spicy dames for any gossip on Carnales dealings. Anything we can do to shit on their parade is a win in my book."

"Good enough for me. I'll have Armando pick up the guys and meet you back at your dad's tailor shop in Sunnyvale."

"Let's get this shit started, my brother." Ben said, liking the plan.

When 3rd Street was won back for the people, favors were getting handed to the purple thugs freely. The Church on the Row was their main base of operations, but there were also evicted houses around the area for Armando, A.J., and Denzel to go to if they wanted to stay low. Most of the time, the Church itself kept a low profile whenever a red Cadillac decided to cruise down the street at two in the morning. Antwon was living in a one level bachelor pad near the Highway Ball Courts; it was a great feeling living on his own and no parents telling him what to do. Then when he realized he didn't have a mom or dad to get yelled at or beaten, it kind of tore him up a bit.

Before meeting Julius for the first time, he was living in a foster home with four Caucasian sisters, going to Stilwater High where he met Armando for the first time in their freshman year. They met under awkward circumstances, but those circumstances alone made them friends. As much as A.J. loved being with older, hotter sisters, they all had boyfriends who wanted to tear his head off. It was funny at first; they all acted like Prince Charming around them to the point where it made him feel suffocated. For awhile, he stayed with Armando and his newfound uncle, Ferdinand Mendoza.

The day he proved himself Saint-like was the night a few low level Carnales members started robbing stores, pulling people out of their homes, and executing them on the spot. Armando and A.J. manned up and took a few down trying to take away his little brother, Carlos as a poco potencial guerrero (potential little warrior). Julius was in the neighborhood back then, saw them having what it takes to protect their own. He offered them a way to make a difference, and since then they have been doing covert jobs at night.

Together, they stopped home invasions; Brown Bagger stores weren't getting robbed as much. In the end it was all about respect Julius told them. Gather enough from the people and they'll help fight back the Carnales in whatever way they could. Things were looking up for a young man fornicating with the pleasures of the flesh. Meeting a British foreign exchange student in High School, he has been dating fine vanilla dimes and dashing out before their fathers load up their shotguns. One Wednesday morning was shining bright downtown. A.J. was chilling on his couch, playing video games when he heard a knock at his front door. He grabbed his NR4 pistol and looked out his window before answering the knock.

"Ey, what's good hermano?" A.J. asked as they hugged each other.

"It's all good, brother. Hey listen, Jules and Ben wants us to meet them at Impressions in half an hour."

"Shit, is it tonight?" He asked feeling excited.

"You know King. His father makes the best suits in Stilwater. We're going to be looking like millionaires at that party."

"Whoa hold on. We got to wear suits? Fuck that!" He said turning away with Armando walking inside.

"Aw, come on. You really want to blow our chance to kick the Carnales right in the cojones? It's just for one night." Armando pulled his arm as they went to his car.

"Dawg, why do we have to wear suits? Why not just storm the place like the Greeks did in the Odyssey? Put an RPG in Big D's hand, and it's all over."

"Jules doesn't want a repeat of 3rd Street. It was only us against thirty Carnales members plus Victor. I know you've been swimming through the granny panties of our female species, but we got shit to do, son."

"Fuck you. The granny fetish was just an experiment in my junior year." He said with Armando giving him a smirk. "Okay, I like opening my presents before playing with them. Sue me. Sorry if I sound like a bitch this morning. I've just been going through some stuff, you know?"

"You're my best friend, A.J. You don't have to apologize to me." He said starting up his car and driving off. "Just…don't tell King about the granny panties. He'll never let you live it down."

"You got a point there. Let's go pick up Big D at his girl's crib."

Denzel Tate was practically the only guy in Stilwater who could match Victor in strength and stopping power. When they fought in the summer of '85, Denzel knew how to throw a punch. Interesting enough, Victor knew how to take one when bullets were running past his back. He would've taken him down for good if it wasn't for the sweat running down his eyes. They were burning his vision and Victor had gotten the upper hand even if it was just for five minutes.

By the time he was the only man left standing he took off and left the neighborhood to the Saints for good. Denzel wasn't much the same after that; he really wanted to bring Victor down once and for all so that maybe the Carnales would scatter, but it wasn't as easy as he led himself to believe. Luckily, he met somebody with a heart as big as his. Her name was Renee. Besides being a freak in bed, she knew how to cook, clean, and maintain a job with her charisma working at the "Off the Racks" clothing store.

They met sometime after the 3rd Street takeover. Since that time, not Armando or even King had seen neither hide nor hair of Big D. As they drove to Renee's house, A.J. suddenly realized it was their one year anniversary. Knowing his history of dating the big gals of Stilwater, the imagery of their senior prom was etched into their minds forever; especially when A.J. got drunk and was playing "hide the corsage" with his date, Suzy Atwell. He was getting nervous as they pulled up to her house.

"I swear to god, that nigga better be wearing drawers by the time he opens that door."

"That was senior prom, man. When are you going to let it go?" Armando laughed.

"Yeah, keep laughing Mr. Eligible Bachelor. At least your girl didn't laugh in your face when you sang an Irish folklore with a giant."

"Oh yeah…that was funny." He said knocking on the door.

It was just as A.J. feared. The door went wide opened with The Kronic 92.2 playing in the background. Hip hop beats were going the same motion as Denzel's cigar smoke flowing from his mouth.

"What's gooooooood, my purple brothas?" He said acting relaxed.

"Thank the fucking lord you got drawers on, dawg. Get dressed. We got to meet Ben and Jules over in Sunnyvale."

"Is that punk bitch Victor gonna be there?"

"For our sake, we hope not." Armando replied.

"_Boo, are those your boys out there?"_

"Uh…nah just girl-scouts selling cookies!" He shouted.

"_Do any of them have peanut butter with the chocolate kiss in the center?"_

"Actually Renee, I found girl a scout right here who can service those…" Armando laughed as A.J. pushed him.

"Give me ten minutes, guys. I got some biz I need to finish up, ha hah!"

"He became a freak since Renee scooped him off his feet; literally." A.J. said as both went back to Armando's car to wait. "I'm gonna kick your ass one day, Mendoza. Just watch."

Born and bred in Stilwater; carefree but never afraid to whoop some ass if need be. Come to think of it Armando thought as they waited, Antwon and Denzel must have switched brains at one point. Big D was also not afraid of looking good for the ladies whereas A.J. was self–conscious all of a sudden about how he looked. He explained that it would make him forget who he was, corrupt him in a way. He saw how the system worked in the city.

Legal Lee was his one gripe when it came to ensuring justice; always giving the Carnales get out of jail free cards. It was because of the system four families lost their lives during the Row's takeover. In essence, he hated lawyers. Six minutes later, Denzel came out in his purple attire and all cruised to Nob Hill.

"Girl-scout cookies, D; is she ashamed of us now?" Armando asked.

"I held back. A.J. knows what I'm talking 'bout." He laughed.

"Once again, thank the lord you had drawers on. I love you man, but I don't swing that way." A.J. replied.

"It's all good. So what're we doing on Ben's old turf?"

"The big party is tonight at the Lopez mansion. We're meeting Ben and Jules for a suit fitting and go over the plan one last time." Armando said.

"Mr. Orejuela will be around greeting the guests so while I work my Ivy League magic, Armando will swipe the shipping manifest from his office. If all goes smoothly, we'll have a link to the Carnales drugs network."

"As long as Victor doesn't show his ugly ass face, I'm down with whatever Ben wants me to do." Denzel acknowledged.

"How was the anniversary?" Armando asked.

"A sexual paradise, amigo; making love to Renee felt like the first time we kissed. We went at it like two Walruses on speed."

"Are you sure she likes you calling her a Walrus?"

"Oh hell yeah, they're her favorite animals. No harm, no foul on the love handles. We spent the last two days at her place, eating like royalty so that's why I haven't been on the 3rd Street loop as much. Is there anything new from Jules?"

"Apart from the mansion bash nothing else besides gang activity in other parts of the city. Things have been quiet though." Armando updated him.

"So what's up wit'chu, Armando? Got any updates about your fulfilling love life?"

"This ought to be good." A.J. chuckled.

What love life? Armando hasn't been cruising in bathing suit bunnies since his High School days. That was before a revelation came knocking at his door. During his senior year, he found out he had a little brother back in Puerto Rico named Carlos. Carrying him was a fifty-three year old vegetable cultivator named Ferdinand Mendoza. That was when it clicked in his head about the resemblance between him and Carlos.

His brother was only four years old at the time; a happy, energetic kid with a hell of an imagination. Armando didn't remember much about his past in Bayamon where he was born. It was common among Saints that they came from humble, yet unfortunate circumstances that led them to the gang life. All he remembered was a massive hurricane that swallowed him up and the next thing he knew, he was washed on a shipping boat sailing to America. What led to the hurricane was still a big mystery.

Ferdinand filled in the blanks on how Carlos was conceived, saying their mother and father were going to a candy store to pick up some salt water taffy and some coconut milk for the heat wave that was to come their way. Weather reports gravely misinterpreted Mother Nature's plan for the lovely island; so a rainstorm started happening. Sometime after that, wind gusts sounding like ghostly screams passed through their house. He remembered getting carried by someone who said, "Espera, sobrino. Si los padres están a la espera de nosotros, en un lugar seguro. Estaremos con ellos pronto." (Hold on, nephew. Your parents are waiting for us at a safe place. We'll be with them soon.)

Sooner didn't come quick enough. Ferdinand's car wasn't working; nobody in the neighborhood lent a helping hand, mostly because everybody evacuated their homes and made a break for shelter outside Bayamon. By the time they reached where his parents were, they were standing at the docks in Fajardo when…then his uncle stopped after that. Armando wanted to know more, but to expose the outcome of his tale would have been too much for Carlos in Ferdinand's eyes. "One day, he told him, when Carlos becomes a young man and has understood how harsh reality is, I will conclude the tale."

From that abrupt ending on, they remained a tight knit family living in Stilwater. He didn't really approve of Armando living with a bunch of thugs on 3rd Street, but being used to have to fight for everything including his life Ferdinand had a new respect for his nephew. His clique was a lot better suited than the pedejos running the Carnales. Over the years, Armando has proven responsible, helping his uncle with his garden as well as taking care of his little brother. He grew quite fond of him though how he came to be was still fuzzy after everything that went on in Puerto Rico.

Now he was living his own life with people he trusted for the most part. It was a good thing King and Julius were the educated thugs of the group, but the others caught on. Entering Nob Hill was like entering another era in Stilwater's history. They were out of the greasy frying pan and into the boring world of finger foods and money wasting douchebags. It wasn't long until they reached the Impressions store. When they went inside the store, Denzel couldn't wait to be looking fresh for the night to come. A female store clerk welcomed them to Impressions; she was none other than Ben's sister, Angela.

"What's good, Angie?" Denzel said looking around the store. "When they said the suit makes the man, they weren't lying."

"We got suede, coats, retro chic, pinstripe, tuxedo; anything for the man to look good around expensive friends." Angela said.

"Expensive is right. We can't afford this shit." A.J. said reading a price tag.

"Oh don't worry about it. My daddy got you all hooked up with suits in the back. Ben and Jules are waiting for you guys."

"Thanks sweetheart." Denzel replied going to the back.

"Take it easy." Armando said.

Grabbing Armando's arm, she asked him "How's Jules doing? Has he ever mentioned...?"

"I think it's best you talk to your brother about that." He replied walking towards the back room.

They saw three men in sharp suits that were flashy enough for them to blend in with the Carnales types. Ben already thought ahead for Antwon when he had him try on a black tuxedo. He changed his mind quickly when he went to the dressing room, hoping to transform into 007. Denzel was rocking an Olive Stripe Vested suit with a green striped tie to match. Ben was sporting a black Calvin Klein number with dark brown leather shoes and a blue tie whereas Julius went corporate casual with a dark yellow business shirt, switching up the style a bit. As for Armando, he was the last to come out to show the homies what he was working with. He wore a dark grey Tommy Hilfiger with a bold, dark red tie to complete the look.

"Looking sharp my brother." Denzel told Armando.

"If only we were going to this thing to pick up some hot senoritas." A.J. said as everybody looked at him weird. "What, can't a brother have an open mind?"

"You kids today. At least y'all know how to clean up good." Ben's father said.

"These look great, pops. Thanks for hooking us up to that party." Ben thanked him.

"No problem son; don't get shot tonight, you feel me?"

"Gather around men." Julius said to everybody. "We finally have an in to the Carnales shindig tonight. Now, we're not going there to start any drama or flexing our rep like it's a goddamn sword. We stick to small talk with the locals, and only broaden our pitches with the business types. It seems simple enough. Ben?"

"Simple is not the word I'd use, Jules. Apart from meeting Manuel Orejuela, the mansion is going to be heavily guarded. We wore bandanas over our mouths on the Row's takeover so they shouldn't recognize us. Our pitch is a new drug product that is making money in underground circles. We tell them we're ready to come up for air and put our product on the street."

"What're we selling?" A.J. asked.

Ben put a hazel bottle on the table in front of the guys and said, "Mortimer 210. It's a new brand of metabolic steroid that helps you eat as much as you want and never gaining a single pound. There are only two downsides to this drug: it doesn't give the user muscle mass like other steroids do, and it also gives you a compelling need to bang your head against the wall."

"That should be fun to watch." Armando chimed in.

"If we play our cards right, the people we talk to will just take our word for it." Julius said.

"I assume if a bodybuilder takes this shit, they'll die on the spot?" Denzel asked.

"That is where the substitute comes in." Ben said putting another bottle on the table. "Keep in mind, at the party there is going to be businessmen, professional drug dealers with their third wives; shit maybe the Colombians might show. Something big is going down tonight with Alejandro Lopez."

"It might be political related." Armando replied. "My uncle told me he has been seeing Alejandro and Mayor Benning on the news a lot."

"He might show up, the Mayor. He's one shady motherfucker. His term should've been up years ago. Word is the Carnales have him in their back pocket, turning a blind eye to their gang activities; shit like that." Julius explained.

"All I know is that we need to get that manifest from Manuel. He'll have a copy machine in his office so Armando will make a duplicate while A.J. talks brass tax with him."

"That sounds good to me." A.J. agreed.

"The substitute for Mortimer 210 will have a heart burn side effect. It's non-lethal so there shouldn't be any casualties. The party's at 9, gentlemen. We're about to head into the lion's den." Julius said with determination.

The Lion's den was something A.J. rather took to heart than getting frisked heading into the mansion. Nine o'clock came around and the five entrepreneurs planned a 9:20 fashionably late time to avoid Carnales suspicion. Nobody who wasn't high on Alejandro's list showed up late, but by the time they reached the mansion it was a mad house out front. Guests and other expensive suits were lined up getting searched by house security. "Keep cool..." Antwon kept telling himself as they got closer.

Julius and Ben took point with Big D following behind them. Soon after they were cleared to go, Ben insisted security Big D didn't have anything to hide besides his short fused temper when being frisked. He cracked his knuckles a bit to get the message clear before they let him through as well. Armando held out his arms and felt nervous while one of the guards was looking at him like he saw him before. Apparently, he recognized his uncle back in Bayamon when he used to buy avocados from his small grocery store.

It was the mutual small talk of fine Spanish vegetables that won him his pass inside. Conveniently, Antwon was the last one to enter before the doors closed behind while guests were still clamoring on getting in; all good so far Ben told his posse. There was nothing legal about the amount of blood money going into the mansion; red and white colors with a sultan vibe to the architecture from the top and bottom floors. Guards were also at every door, even the bathrooms. Luckily, there was food and plenty of people to talk about their new "drug" pitch. People were going to be sweating tonight Denzel told them, and not just the green chili peppers on the buffet line.

The five split up to their respective places to mingle until the big jefe arrives with his special announcement. Armando walked casually around the buffet tables as he was looking on the upper floors for any sign of the Colombian Liaison himself. A.J. decided to join him.

"Bro, the Lopezes got some nice shit in here." He said admiring the place. "That Spanish knight would look good in my gym."

"You don't have a gym at your place." Armando replied trying some red wine.

"Give it time, I will. Alright, let's go over our roles one more time. When we see Manuel, we go in tight, you let me do all the talking, and if he's interested take that as your cue to go to his office and make a copy of that manifest."

"I already got the samples on me. Ben and Julius look like they're sealing the deal." He said.

Being Sunnyvale born tends to instill good presentation. Ben ran into a mob boss from Ireland as he and Jules gave their pitch on Mortimer 210. It was going to be their first customer they thought since he had a sideways growth spurt with his Baywatch looking wife. Armando then turned to Denzel giving the same speech to a few high rollers looking for a new product for their Las Vegas underworld. Nothing was out of the ordinary so far; each of them blended with the crowd like they have been going to crime lord bashes for years.

Within an hour of pitching to four intriguing parties, Ben and Jules got some money out of the deal. One thing they learned back in the '80s was many crime bosses don't get up and move around very much. All they do was go from one flashy limo to the next, going to business dinners and fattening themselves up a lot more. They guessed the number of crème brulees and smoked out cigars clouded their common sense to do a push up or twenty. Before they knew it, an announcement was about to begin for Alejandro. The announcer on the other hand was someone Armando didn't expect. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She held a mic in her left hand as she spoke in an attractive French accent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you the man that has brought us all together this evening, Sr. Alejandro Lopez." She said as the lower floor cheered with him emerging.

El jefe himself wasn't bad looking for a man in his mid-60s. His two sons, Hector and Angelo came out to greet the guests as they stood by their upstanding father. She gave him the mic with a vibrant smile after they kissed each other on the cheek. Armando and the others moved in closer to get a sense of how much of a Samaritan front he was putting on in front of his colleagues. From Julius's point of view, Alejandro didn't seem like the person with something to hide.

"The lovely young lady you just heard is my son, Hector's fiancé, Arianna Beland. Let us give them a round of applause." He said as people clapped. "I'm a man of observation, of structure. When Hector first brought her to this house, her background had me floored. She has an admiration for nature, loves to spend time in the unnatural habitat studying plant life and has taken a liking for wolves. Well, I snapped her out of it and now she has a mind for the empire business.

There is a thing about being a Lopez that…there are constant challenges in your wake and people wishing to see you fail. In Colombia where I grew up, there was peace, but also desperation. Mi amor, Valencia conceived two miracles that would stand with me as we retook our misfortune, and transform it into a takeover. She…no longer stands with me. I have established myself well with the Colombian syndicate for over forty years. Some of my colleagues are here tonight, celebrating our lifelong journey fighting side by side to take what was rightfully ours.

In that span of time, we as Los Carnales took over the biggest network of drug distribution in the states, California. Stilwater and I had our differences, it's true, but for the good of the people and our bank accounts, he laughed, we have secured our spot as the number one drug empire of America. I owe that feat to my family, and to you, my countrymen. Here's to you: Victoria puede ser para siempre." (May victory be forever.) He praised as the room filled with applause. Hector and Angelo embraced him on their past efforts coming full circle. He continued his speech which led to a shocking surprise. "I stand humbled, to be among friends tonight. It has been a feeling too parted from my heart.

I am nearing the end of my life; not because of illness or a decaying mind. You were brought here for one reason, and that reason shall change the way this empire thrives for years to come. Mayor Benning, my dear friend and valuable resource to all the back doors of this city, is regrettably standing down from his post due to a heinous controversy concerning a...personal manner. He couldn't find the words to explain what happened; so he called me personally around four o'clock in the morning to give me the news.

He said, "I am sorry my friend. I cannot be the backbone of this city anymore. You know Stilwater. You understand what it needs to survive, and so I graciously offer my Mayor seat to you. Carry on the accomplishments I have done. You have my undying faith." I couldn't speak for five minutes when I was offered such a position. How does a man in my position choose to go public with a history of blood and violence? Answer is simple: I just took it." He blatantly spoke while the crowd laughed. "Come next year, you will be looking at your brand new Mayor of Stilwater. However, the business my sons and I have molded will not go astray. Hector, Angelo, Arianna, Victor, as of this moment, you four will be taking over the entire business as I set up my new post running for office."

Angelo put the mic up to his mouth, choked by the turn of events happening before him. "I'm proud of you dad. We are all proud of you. We'll make sure Los Carnales lives on in your name."

"Thank you _mi hijo." _He said, embracing Angelo and turning his attention to Manuel. "Manuel, you have stood by my side through my time as founder of this family, never questioned my judgment. Do you think I am capable in going legit?"

"This is a bold move you are taking, my friend." Manuel said. "The Colombians and I will back you on whatever decisions you make in office."

"Que no le defraudará, jefe. Usted tiene mi palabra." Victor spoke.

(We won't let you down, boss. You have my word.)

And with that, every person standing and stuffing their faces in honor of the Lopez claim to fame praised him on his decision to take the Carnales to new heights. That was when the sales pitch for Ben's phony steroids was ceasing to hold any weight. He kept finding his sample bags on the floor with people shoving past his shoulders. Julius was helping out while nodding his head in disappointment over the news. Denzel took a walk over with no luck on selling people Mortimer 210, hoping Armando and A.J. would fare better than they did.

"No luck with you guys on that steroid?" Denzel asked Ben.

"I thought it would provide us a loophole in the Carnales shipments. It's up to those two now." Ben said looking at Armando.

"Alejandro in the flesh, Julius replied drinking from his wine glass, I have never heard so much bullshit in my life: an old crime boss with two psycho sons becoming Mayor for Stilwater? Give me a break."

"Keep in mind, their drug and gun shipments are what keep them in business. It's what keeps this city afloat. With Hector and Angelo running the gang, they're going to rely on that manifest more than ever. We sabotage those deliveries, it'll put Alejandro's gateway to politics on hold."

"Hey, there's Victor." Denzel said looking up where Hector and Arianna were. "Boy, would I love a rematch with that bitch."

"One day soon, homie. One day soon." Ben assured him.

For a night of celebration, the night was moving slower than molasses. Manuel walked back with Alejandro to his office while Hector whispered in Arianna's ear about overseeing the festivities. She appeared in an enticing form Armando thought looking at her. He felt like he was frozen in time, like everything else around him were nothing but echoes and random noises. She had black hair with red streaks to resemble the Carnales colors, light tan skin with steely brown eyes that blessed whatever bile or expensive toy it had set on.

It was no more than two and a half minutes until those very same eyes met his tired vision, but before the mansion he had never felt so awake. Not only that, Arianna wore an elegant, fire engine red dress that hugged her curves with the lower end of the dress flowing at her heels. The more he stared at her, the back of his throat dried up, and felt the effects of Ben's phony drug even though he never sampled it. It has been a while since he immersed himself in the dating scene; mostly he kept himself within distance whenever he hung out with A.J. and the others. He tried getting back in, but every time he did his uncle came a calling. Not to mention he felt fuzzy yet scarred from how his life "ended" in Bayamon, and being reborn again in the form of a little brother and a hard assed uncle.

For the past the few years being a street kid in purple, lowering Carnales numbers at every scarce chance they got, he made excuses for himself not to have a go for the ladies again. As he stood at the buffet table in a trance, A.J. bumped into him eating a plate of rice and green beans. One wrong step and he would've dropped the plate on the ground and his cover blown. However, he was more concerned about what Armando was drooling at if not for the_ muy bueno_ spoils of turf wars.

"You awake, man?" A.J. asked startling him. "You gotta try this; brown rice, green beans with some good ol' fashion pig roast on the side. No wonder these beige fat cats never saw a treadmill in their lives."

"Do you ever stop eating? Keep that up, and you'll end up like these fat cats."

"Remember when I went to jail after that Tee 'N' Ay fiasco last year?"

"Oh yeah, when you motor boated that one dancer with the double D's and the Jlo voice." He said chuckling. "That was fun when the cops got there."

"Funny for you; it wasn't even my fault. I had a few drinks in me when I went Captain Ahab on them titties. Next thing I know, I was getting dragged outside by some pissed off construction worker with a baseball bat. I woulda dropped his ass if I was sober."

"You're lucky she was drunk too. She wasn't even a dancer, _ese_. You picked her up off the street after your fifth or seventh beer."

"But that still doesn't explain why she was wearing a Stilwater High cheerleading outfit. Point is, I'll look like Big D if I ever go back inside. Now are you going to tell me why you…" A.J. stopped himself looking up at the main balcony where Arianna was standing. "When I said I was going to hook you up…"

"No need. She's a _fascinante señora de misterio._ (Mesmerizing lady of mystery)" He replied admiring her still.

"French women are naturally hot. But leave this one alone, brother. Didn't you hear what _el jefe de stupido_ said? She's Hector Lopez's fiancée. She's marrying a crazy motherfucker. Hector will cut you up if you so much as say her name."

"You know, you really should listen to Ben's advice. Positivity goes a long way."

"I'm serious, Armando. Let this one go." He said seeing Manuel coming out. "Alright there he is. Show time."

Manuel Orejuela has been a personal friend and business partner to the Lopezes since the transition of Colombian civil war to a drug empire in Stilwater. Being a Liaison to the Colombian drug lords kept the bloodshed at arm's length; they have put loads of stock in the Lopez family when they settled in the states. He was a peacekeeper of sorts; especially when drug deals would get too hot between opposing parties. A.J. had his Mortimer 210 bottle ready as they went up the stairway to catch him before heading down to mingle with the others. As for Armando, he had a tendency to follow his instincts a little too often for anyone's taste.

He felt something when he looked at Arianna. He didn't know what that feeling was, but it was there nonetheless. For now he kept his distance until A.J. had him on the ropes on the new drug product and acting out his business side. As hard a man Manuel was to reach, his ears were always open to new ways for the Carnales to make money off the backs of hard working drug dealers. When he faced A.J. with upstanding posture and lighting a cigar, he put his game face on and began.

"Sr. Orejuela, just the man I wanted to see. Allow me to introduce me and my colleague here. I am Franklin V. and this is Enrico Vasquez."

"Um…always a pleasure to meet faces I've never seen before." Manuel said shaking Antwon's hand. "If you excuse me…"

"And I'd love to excuse you to talk business with your partners, but if you'd give us three minutes of your time, we have a new drug formula me and my entourage made."

"Have I seen either of you before?"

"Nob Hill, organizó un evento para recaudar fondos para los jóvenes hispanos, recaudar veinte y tres mil dólares." Armando brought up to save face.

(Nob Hill, you hosted a fundraiser for underprivileged Hispanic youths, raising $23,000.)

"Si; that was an amazing cause we did back in '83. It feels good to do right by others. You gentlemen were involved in the event?"

"Before Sr. Lopez's arrival in Stilwater, the Latino community was getting the short end of the stick. However, we'd like to contribute something more…beneficial to the Lopez business."

"Two minutes…" Manuel gave A.J.

"Excellent." He replied noticing a waiter serving champagne upstairs. "Enrico, would you get Mr. Orejuela some champagne, please?"

A.J. was persistent to get the bullshit talking fast and engaging to anyone who would listen. From where Armando was standing, it looked like he had Manuel's full attention with the steroid in hand for demonstration. He turned around and went back up the stairway when his shoulder got a dislocating shove by none other than Victor himself. They stared at each other for a solid five seconds with Victor giving him a dirty look and mumbling something as went about his business below. Arianna was still standing front and center, overseeing all the silk suit murderers who invade, kill, and god knew what else they had on their extensive rap sheets.

She was sipping champagne with an observant look in her eyes like she was keeping her eye out for someone important. Armando's heart was racing and was sweating under his constricting collar so he loosened up his tie to go introduce himself. He took one last look below to see Julius, Ben, and the others blending in while he did some blending on his own before getting the manifest. Making the first move to talk to a woman can be nerve wrecking; he felt he should be used to it out of the two girlfriends he had back in High School. He grabbed a champagne glass as he stood next to her, breaking the ice, "Hell of a speech Alejandro did. Who'd have thought Mayor Benning would step down from his seat?"

"He likes to embellish things. I have to admit though, never envisioned him taking the Mayor's seat."

"Much less going into politics, knowing what the Carnales do." He said as Arianna stared back at him. "Sorry, I'm kind of new at this."

"It's alright." She assured him. "So, are you a friend of Angelo's?"

"Not really; separate organization: Entrepreneurship. We're trying to get a piece of the drug trade."

"Say it any louder, and Victor might hear you." She said sipping her champagne. "I will never understand the meaning behind house parties. There has been tension between Hector and Alejandro behind closed doors. It's been lingering for months. Thankfully, his father's announcement kept them at ease."

"And where do you fit into this tension?"

"I cannot say. I look down there and see Haitian high rollers from Nevada, Hispanic bodyguards ready to jump in front of a bullet for their leader. Then there are Alejandro's colleagues laughing and enjoying their "alliance", all because they want to prevent bloodshed from spilling onto the city streets. Do you want to know what they all have in common?"

"Todos ellos están dispuestos a matarse los unos a los otros si Alejandro es la palabra."

(They're all willing to kill each other if Alejandro gives the word.)

"Perhaps I will too then. If it comes to down to it, we do what it takes to survive." She said before pausing. "I'm sorry, I tend to ramble myself." She put out her left hand and introduced herself. "Arianna Beland."

"Ar-Enrico Vasquez…" He replied kissing her hand.

"You seem distracted, Sr. Vasquez." She said observing his eyes.

"Um, it's nothing. It was nice to meet you." He nodded and smiled before turning away to go down the hall.

"Good luck…" She spoke to herself.

Time was running short and he still had to get the shipping manifest before Manuel came back. In the weeks following the house party, Ben and Armando studied the layout of the mansion. As weird as it sounded at the time, Manuel kept a separate office down the hall from Alejandro's. Maybe side deals were taking place Ben thought, but then it wouldn't make sense if Carnales eyes were always watching what he was doing, and boy were the bodyguards in red keeping their eyes fixed on Armando the moment he started talking to Arianna to when he walked away. Luckily, the whole time he was keeping an eye on Victor and the others to make sure he didn't get exposed for talking to Hector's fiancée.

Moving down the hall, he came across a brightly lit office where Angelo, Hector, and Alejandro spoke of their plans for the Mayoral transition. It didn't sound promising from all the Spanish cussing, but Arianna did have a point. He sensed the tension between the Lopez trio, more so from Alejandro like he didn't anticipate going into politics. Hector kept trying to explain how the public eye needed to see the Carnales in a more positive light, as opposed to Angelo keeping his tongue to his father's boot. One wanted peace for Stilwater while the other wanted to keep things business as usual.

"These cabrons can't decide anything." Armando shook his head as he moved towards Manuel's office door. Why was it unlocked he never knew, but all that mattered to him was he got inside. Unlike the house's interior, Manuel's office did have a Colombian feel to it. There were photos of when he was a kid, magazines of Playboy and Safeword girls to relieve the stress any man would have in his position.

Old records and expensive couches, all neatly placed as Armando made an effort not move anything out of place. Another thing they learned about him was that he was a meticulous businessman, can spot anything out of place regardless if it was a chair turned a different way or a manifest taken. Of all the nice things Manuel had, there was no copy machine to copy the manifest itself. All of a sudden, he dropped on his knees and hid under the desk when he heard footsteps coming into the office. The feel of the floor shaking under his feet told him Victor was close by; he didn't stay long though.

After a minute or so, Armando looked back up and checked the drawers to only find a notebook and a few loose pens lying around. It would've been too easy he thought so he checked behind the pictures, under the red chair cushions; then something clicked in his head to check the two bookcases sitting on both sides of the desk. As he kept looking, the intrigue on Manuel's face turned into boredom when A.J., Ben, Denzel, and Julius were trying to sell him on the Mortimer drug. It was pointing out the pros and cons from the four "entrepreneurs" while convincing him it would eventually become a major selling point in the drug market. After a while, he didn't want to hear it anymore.

"Alright gentlemen," He shouted. "You four really seem to be well versed in your product. If it was up to me, I'd take it under advisement. But my hands are tied at the moment, and my colleagues are very particular over what sells and what does not."

"Did we mention Mortimer can go the legal route for helping people lose weight?" A.J. asked.

"Three times, Franklin; I am sorry. The fact is you don't have any pull in this city, no references or even testimonials who tried this Mortimer 210. Therefore, your product is nonexistent in this city. Now if you excuse me…"

"You'll regret for not letting us in." Denzel said to him.

Ben nudged his arm after he spoke out of turn. Now we're really screwed A.J. said to himself. However, Manuel didn't hear him the first time so he asked, "I beg your pardon, young man?"

"Regretfully…agree. We regretfully agree you won't give us a shot at being sellers for Los Carnales. Bid-ness is bid-ness after all."

"We thank you for taking the time to listen to us, Mr. Orejuela." Ben brought up as Manuel nodded and walked away.

"Smooth save, D." A.J. said.

"Fuck. Too bad we can't be the eyes and ears of their drug trade, even if it's just a piece." Ben said.

"It doesn't matter." Julius replied with certainty. "Once Armando gets that manifest, the real work can begin."

"Build, watch, and act Jules. The manifest is our foundation to build on. We need to be smart about this."

"Wonder what's taking Armando so long." Denzel said.

The whole time turning Manuel's office upside down without putting a piece of paper out of place was a breathtaking feeling for him. Smoking fools in red on drive byes and preventing home invasions were fun an all, but being in the lion's den where his life could be over at any moment was invigorating. Then he snapped out of it until he finally found the manifest hiding behind a shelf of Spanish encyclopedias. He went back around Manuel's desk, got out a piece of notebook paper and started writing down the dates and cargo shipping in. He didn't have time to copy them all down; it was twenty-two pages thick of valuable items such as tailor made clothes, mods for their cars, jewelry from Syria, fifteen crates of AK-47s and semi-automatics.

Armando kept skimming through the pages with his heart racing still, copying down the major shipment dates and hitting those in hopes of putting a dent in the Carnales's reputation. By the time he felt he had gotten enough information, he hid under the desk again in frustration. It was the third time he was interrupted. Carnales soldiers; tooled up in red attire and bling to match while carrying rifles. They were walking past the office and when the coast was clear, he put the manifest back where he found it, took his copy and walked back out before anyone suspected anything curious. He saw Arianna downstairs with Hector mingling with the other guests.

He adjusted his suit and casually walked back to A.J. and the others. As soon as Julius saw him, he told them to follow his lead outside on the premises; a couple of off duty cops and their mistresses were enjoying their drunken escapades so they used that as cover while the guards were distracted. Before they knew it, they were back in Julius's '83 Destiny driving away without so much as exhaust fumes getting left behind. It was about a mile or two away from the mansion and out on the main road did the tight group burst out laughing in relief they didn't get caught.

"Woo, I thought we were done there for sure." Denzel said.

"I think I knew that cop we followed; one of Winslow's lapdogs." Armando pointed out. "Man, as soon as he started singing…"

"If Victor was there, I don't even want to think about it. I know I give lawyers a lot of shit, but hey they know how to dress well." A.J. replied checking himself out.

"You handled yourself well back there, Antwon. For a while, you had me convinced you were an actual businessman." Ben said as everyone laughed.

"So Armando, brother did you find that manifest?" Denzel asked stretching his neck.

"That's what I want to know." Julius said.

"It was like finding a needle in a fucking haystack." He replied giving the written paper to Julius. "I managed to jot down some of the major shipment dates they got coming in near the meat packing district. There's about fourteen dates we can hit, but it'll be tricky keeping track of them all."

"Armando's right." Ben agreed. "Alejandro is an old school type leader. He always oversaw the shipments in one location because his security detail keeps a tight lock on anybody making a scene. But since Hector and Angelo will be running things now, the location may change."

"We're going to need more people on our side." Julius suggested out loud. "The five of us ain't gonna cut it anymore."

"I'm with you on that, Jules." Ben replied.

"My grandfather knows some people up in Nob Hill who can help us out. I can bring them down to the Row. They're good guys." Denzel said.

"Chinatown's a good place to recruit too. There's this kid who knows his way around weapons…a little too damn well for my taste. I'll take a ride tomorrow and look for him." Julius said.

"It sounds like we got this shit locked down for now." Ben chimed in, before giving them a reminder. "I know I sound like a broken record…"

"Angela's homemade cheesecake can make you feel whole again." Julius pointed out.

"Uh-huh…like I said we need to be smart about the direction we're taking. Before we met you guys, Jules and I were running a small gang back in Sunnyvale. We didn't know what the hell we were doing at the time. Good thing there was a Friendly Fire nearby to smoke those fools in red from taking over. It was only us and my Dad left standing. I just want to be sure that shit doesn't happen with us."

"If there's one thing I've learned hanging with you guys, is that as long as we focus on why we're doing this in the first place, we'll be alright. As for you two, Denzel said looking at Ben and Julius, y'all got some issues to work out if we're going to survive."

"We can all share the leadership." A.J. suggested. "I'm down for that."

Armando thought about what Arianna said about tension brewing between Hector and his father in terms how the Carnales should be run. He was feeling the same tension from Ben and Jules at times. They were supposed to be best friends he thought, make things happen and learn from the mistakes they made the first time running a crew. However, there was some history between them no intervention can remedy. On the ride back to the Row, they tabled what their roles were going to be for Stilwater and started debating on what they were going to call themselves.

Was it going to be "The Purple Soldiers", "Street Corner Conquerors", "Stilwater Kings"? Names were thrown around like a tennis ball hitting the wall for hours on end. All of a sudden, Julius spoke of a name that was simple and represented the Church as their home in times of personal trouble or defending turf. From that moment forward, they called themselves the 3rd Street Saints.

20


	2. Chapter 2: Julius's warning

Julius's warning

The horizon amongst the hazy clouds of Stilwater's morning, the sun had raised a ruby red gem on many god fearing citizens. Up until the year 1986, Los Carnales had been the forefront of that fear. Everything was under lock and key, and Alejandro Lopez made sure people paid their dues up to him before the insurance companies, or Legal Lee for that matter. That was until five street kids from 3rd Street decided to grab the gun being pressed against their heads and turn the chambers until the bullet ripped through the wielder's skull. It was a slow start, showing up incognito in Nob Hill's finest suits by Eric King as the five young men ventured into the Red Lion's den. From there, Armando took crucial locations of special shipments that were going to provide a solid foundation for the two heirs of the Carnales, Hector and Angelo.

With one brother experienced in drug deals and the other in gun-running, they've been stacking the manpower in those crucial locations like factories and high paying customers living in the Barrios. Business went about its usual route while Alejandro hit the ground hard gathering a campaign party for Mayor. His predecessor, Arnold Benning stepped down from his position due to personal conflicts in his life. Many of his supporters and close friends turned their attention to Alejandro with his intuition and words of influence for his vision of a better Stilwater. This was a first in the city's sordid history: an honest politician, more of an oxymoron to some naysayers allowing a "reformed" crime boss going straight.

On various talk shows and one on one interviews surprisingly, Alejandro was very open about his career as a Carnales crime lord. He had said time and again he was an entirely different man growing up in Colombia; the sob story of a father-to-be losing the love of his life by gaining two new loves in return. Legitimate jobs were hard to come by for a man of his ethnicity. The places he went to didn't bother offering a Colombian refugee a fair shake in making a better life. Most of the friends he had as a younger man were either in the ground or finding alternate ways to make money.

That was when the Colombian Drug Cartel came into play. At a young age, Alejandro sold his first pitch in being a principal supplier for them. He sold the staples like cocaine, heroin, koma, and pheromones. His voice convinced skeptics of new blood sellers to give him a shot, and his job as a drug dealer took off like a rocket ship going into space for the first time. In the forty year span plus ten years of making "Los Carnale" a household name in both Colombia and the U.S., he made more money than any guy on Wall Street, even the President for that matter. Over time as he told his life story, the life corrupts.

He had seen the effects of what happens to kings when they are on top: sheer loneliness. Thing was, he was making his old friends, his family, and customers happy, but he himself felt the thrill of success fleeting away from him. Those who didn't get trapped in his circle began to call him a plague on Stilwater, a dictator of torture and empty promises. He didn't blame them for these things, saying the Carnales had itchy trigger fingers and enjoy extracurricular activities, all while having the Messiah Complex in their feeble minds. In that same year at the mansion party, he announced his path to Mayor was going to put the city at ease and have his crew go legit.

However, as he was in the political bullpen with some rivals, Hector, his fiancée Arianna, Angelo, Victor, and Manuel Orejuelas handled the sit down meetings and shipment arrivals of guns and drugs. For the most part, things have been less than stellar. News reports in the year 1988 stated a new color was making waves to bring down the Carnales Empire for good. Over seventeen shipments became compromised thanks to five street kids with smarts that would throw some narrow-minded lawyers off guard. Purple loved to play "cat and mouse" with the red shirts while stealing fresh weapons off the wooden crates in the process.

Though numbers within purple ranks were still few, Julius of the new 3rd Street Saints lived by a saying he came up with since he and Benjamin started over: "With a willing heart and a love for brotherhood, each Saint has the strength of ten men with the will to ensure safety for those they are fighting for. As long as we stick together, we will survive the day." For the past two years, they struggled with surviving, especially when it came to looking out for new recruits. On July 13, 1987, a skirmish occurred in Dharmody Square that consisted of a kidnapping done by Angelo. Strange enough, it wasn't a home invasion.

He was drunk with his friend and bodyguard, Victor at the time when they went for a ride to an expensive V.I.P. spot at a Technically Legal strip joint. Ben, Armando, and Jules followed them to the club and noticed six teenage girls ranging around 14-17 years old being forced to dance for Angelo's arousal. It seemed like an easy hit Julius thought back then; there were no Carnales soldiers in sight. When all three busted inside, Victor went to work cracking the whip on the young dancers. By the end of the night, all three went home with some bruises and getting stormed out of the neighborhood by twenty-three strong Carnales soldiers, all lined up outside the closed down club.

Recon was more Armando and A.J.'s thing whereas Ben and Julius led the gun battles. Over the course of those two years, Julius especially became smarter, and started taking on a more behind the scenes approach as a leader for Saints Row while Ben taught inner city youths the meaning behind a Saint. Out of the two Lopez brothers, Angelo was going through a neglecting phase. His father was swimming in political jargon, Hector and Arianna worked new drug deals with Manuel; the family's enforcer Victor was pretty much the only friend he had. At first, he supported his father without question running for Mayor, but as his popularity jumped hula hoops in the city's community, Angelo's place as a Lieutenant started waning.

For nearly seventeen shipments, Angelo was handling a good ten of them until he realized the Carnales may not be the only street gang in the city anymore. The seventeenth shipment was going to be the last delivery before Hector made the transition in buyers coming from Panama. It was ten at night. Angelo and Arianna oversaw the operations for security detail and safe passage taking place at the Stoughton Shipyard. "Tonight's gonna be our lucky 17." Julius told Ben as they rode in a faded purple, worn down Cadillac.

"We've been lucky. Out of the fourteen shipping dates Armando jotted down, we were able to find hints to other locations. Those Carnales sure love to talk." Ben said.

"When you got a big man like D crushing your throat, you tend to give away precious info."

"I'm getting worried 'bout him, Jules."

"His mind's been right ever since we jump started this gang. He won't compromise us now. A.J. and his girl made sure he's calm for every shipment we take."

"How much longer though? You know, he's going to want Victor's head on a fucking platter eventually. Remember August's heat wave last year, when his AC went out at his spot? He was hallucinating Victor gutting the living shit out of Renee. I thought I lost him right then and there."

"He thought he saw A.J. betraying the Row too. My nigga, things have been good since then. If shit goes through the boiler room, we'll handle it like we always do. Build, watch, then act; I say we've done all three these past two years, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, you right." Ben replied.

"Alright then…" Julius said contacting the others on walkie talkies. "A.J., D, we're nearing the docks in Stoughton. How're things on your end?"

"_Doing one last weapons check, brother." _Denzel spoke. _"Tonight's Lucky 17, right?"_

"_Word is bond yo."_ A.J. said._ "We'll be coming through the east side and park by some shipping containers. It's a blind spot so it'll be easier for Armando and I to take out snipers."_

"_How many red shirts you think will show up this time, Jules?"_ Armando asked.

"Two dozen at the most; Angelo's been putting more bodies on these shipments than ever before. Armando, A.J., as soon as you take out the snipers up top, make your way down to the ship's cargo hold. We're eleven minutes early so the ship should be docking soon. Ben and I will pose as Union workers, eavesdropping for any future shipping dates. Remember, take what you can carry and use those silencers we took from the last delivery to make things discreet. Big D, got the C4?"

"_Got enough here to sink the freighter. That bitch Angelo won't know what hit him."_

Ben interjected saying, "That freighter could be valuable to us. If we make some friends in Stoughton, we might be able to run our own drug network along with other goods. Your job is to detonate the delivery trucks the Carnales bring in."

"_You got it. I'll curb stomp their necks if they see me."_

"Good, we all got our jobs. It's our time now, homies. Let's get this shit started." Julius concluded heading towards Stoughton.

Stilwater had a lot of distribution centers placed throughout the city, namely fish factories and warehouses, but Stoughton had enough space for multiple shipments at once. Getting close to their location, Julius was getting curious what the grand prize was for raiding over two dozen shipments to make the Carnales look bad. Maybe it would be uncut diamonds or custom made hats he thought. He had his eye on some West Coast merchandise, but never had the money to buy them. Either way, the 3rd Street Saints were ready to claim their Lucky 17.

It was just as Jules predicted; two dozen strong guarding with custom weapons with grenade attachments while others had machetes and hand guns on their belts for a gory finish. A stressed out Angelo paced back and forth in anticipation for the freighter to arrive. As Arianna was coordinating the security detail, she went back to see what his deal was. He quickly turned and threw a punch without thinking with her stepping back in shock as to what he was doing.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She asked him with hands up.

"Nothing; sorry just nervous is all! This night needs to go smoothly before General Padilla arrives tomorrow." Angelo replied wiping the sweat off his forehead.

"Don't worry, we got this under control."

"I just wish Victor was here, you know? I'd feel…a lot better if my best enforcer didn't have to go with Manuel to that goddamn business meeting. Oh dulce madre de dios, no joda esto para mí! (Oh sweet mother of god, don't fuck this up for me!)"

Putting both her hands on his shoulders, she shouted, "Angelo, pull yourself together, oui? You've taken every precaution there is. If one of our guards even smells a purple rat a mile away, we will know about it."

"It's not good enough, Ari. A new gang is here in Stilwater. Everybody's been saying 3rd Street was involved with the other shipment locales, but I know Victor. He'd hunted those Púrpura ratas to the brink of muerte a few years back. Nobody's seen them since."

"If you want, I'll go do a quick sweep of the shipyard." Arianna suggested.

"No! No future sister-in-law of mine is going to get her hands dirty." Angelo said looking at her pants suit. "Not in those clothes."

"Why do you think I wore flats to this deal? It will only be a minute, I promise. I even brought the machete your brother gave me."

Carnales men never let women bound to them do their jobs and think they stand as equals. It was an unwritten rule within the gang for years, but Angelo caved in to the pressure and allowed her to take a walk around the shipyard to be triply sure the coast was most definitely clear. As she and four other guards did their sweep, Armando and A.J. drove in from the east side towards some shipping containers. When A.J. noticed a few guards walking from a distance, he immediately cut the lights and both went to work right away. They put big duffel bags on their shoulders with silencers in their pockets.

Before they worked their way to the snipers, they hid in the truck with Denzel and waited until the red shirts walked past them. Armando then turned to Denzel for the first part of their plan saying, "Do your thing, D." A.J. found himself laughing when he saw him in a green bug exterminator outfit. Armando shushed everyone as the guards got in close. That was when Denzel grabbed a big box of bug zappers and a ladder, and worked casually until they showed up.

Everyone held their breaths in the hopes the guards would just walk past them like nothing was out of place. Then again, things never really went according to plan when it came to the Saints disrupting Carnales business. One of the guards shouted up to Denzel on what he was doing. He continued to ignore them as he went about playing his part. All of a sudden, he felt his heart skipped two beats after hearing three gunshots go off in the air.

"Fuck! You scared the bejeezus outta me!" He shouted from his ladder.

"It's a little late to be installing bug zappers, mon ami (my friend)." Arianna told him.

"It's spring time, maim. Mosquitoes, dragonflies, anything that wants to chew your skin off is gonna be biting tonight."

"This is a restricted shipyard. Who is your employer?"

"Tony C's Bug Squash: graveyard shift. He told me bug zappers need to be around the docks; been getting complaints from the union reps. I just started a week ago."

"Miss, I don't like this." One guard mentioned.

"We should stay behind. Keep a close eye on him." Another guard suggested as they had fingers gripped on the triggers.

"No, Angelo wants us to scout out the shipyard. Let's get this done quickly." She said as the other guards agreed and moved ahead. "Do what you need to do and be on your way."

"Y'all take care now!" He said as sweat ran down his face.

"_Guys, are we cool?" _Ben asked on the radio.

"You and Jules are free to be the backbone of this city. Armando and dumb ass, time to move."

"_Hey man, not cool. You know Julius has his senior moments." _A.J. replied.

The S.S. Jehovah docked at 10:15 on the dot. Angelo ordered his men to bring the delivery trucks forward as the people on the freighter brought down wooden crates the size of refrigerators. Cranes and pulleys worked their magic as Armando and A.J. worked theirs getting on top of a warehouse roof seeing six snipers spread out on each corner. The same went to a moving crane as three other snipers sat on top looking down. As the shipping arrangements commenced, so did the last stage of the plan: any information by ear when Ben and Julius played their parts loading crates onto the trucks.

Armando got out his knife as they performed stealth attacks on each sniper; easy as flan he told himself. However, A.J. took a bad step and caused a loud banging sound for two of the remaining Carnales members. Armando moved quickly and slit one's neck while A.J. got up close and repeatedly stabbed the last guy in the chest. Time was running out; Angelo was getting restless when Arianna didn't come back yet. When the roof was clear, they dropped back down and took careful steps getting to the freighter.

Denzel being quick on his feet used the shadows to his advantage as he got behind the delivery trucks, putting C4 under their tailpipes while frantically looking both sides of where he was standing. Footsteps walked past where he placed the last bit of C4 on the final truck as it was being prepped to head out to Carnales distribution centers around the city. The sound of one last step rendered Denzel completely still yet calm at the same time as he rolled his eyes to the right to see who it was. Ben was nothing if not discreet when he signaled him to shush while Julius acted out his part by dropping a heavy, wooden crate near his left foot, making it look like he actually dropped it on his there. This bent Angelo's ear with a frustrated look on his face and white knuckles as he marched over to see a delivery driver in pain.

"Oh para follarla bien! (Oh for fuck's sake!) Do you have slippery fingers or something?!" Angelo shouted.

"My apologies sir; my hand slipped." Julius said acting out his injury. "I think my I sprained my foot. Argh, yep it hurts."

"That's precious cargo you dropped, ese. What are we going to do about this?"

Arianna ran back seeing Angelo and Carnales soldiers surrounding the downed driver and said, "What's going on over here?"

"Nice of you to join us, Ms. Beland; we got a driver here who doesn't know the value of overseas cargo."

"Please man, I got a half-brother from Shivington. He doesn't have anybody." Julius pleaded with him.

"Juro a Cristo (I swear to Christ), if my father saw this incompetence…"

Arianna intervened, "Angelo, why does that crate have steam coming out of it?"

"Whaddya say we really ruin this pendejo's day?" Ben asked Denzel as they slowly moved away from the trucks with shotguns in hand. While inside the freighter, Armando and A.J. moved through the darkened hallways riddled with rust and human sweat. Dock workers were moving swiftly to get the crates down to the trucks. There were practically over twenty plus crates that were coffin sized, all with the same smell of sewage for some strange reason.

They put silencers on their glocks as they moved towards the cargo hold on the lower end of the ship. An unusual line of fear etched into each of the dock workers' faces A.J. noticed after shooting three of them in the head. Shaky hands, uttering Spanish words like "Mantener la calma," and "Estos órganos apestan." (Stay calm and these bodies reek.) Tensions rose from loud arguments and the sound of guns loading taking place outside; Armando knew they had to move quickly. By the time they made it to the cargo hold, they found themselves standing in front of a massive freezer.

"Is it common to have freezers on rusty boats?" A.J. asked Armando. "Hardly…" he replied as they helped each other open the door, feeling the icy atmosphere latching onto their skin. Armando found a large pipe and stuck it between the ground and the door to make sure they wouldn't get trapped. Ten remaining crates sat in an ice box with no one claim them; for a shipment so important to Angelo, Armando thought he would make things interesting. Since entering Stoughton, it felt like another run-of-the mill steal.

Whatever the case for its importance, it drastically changed when A.J. opened one of the crates. Inside was a body with icy breath, covered in green and dark purple spots all over. He called him over to take a look at what he found; one quick look and he opened the crate next to it to make sure what he saw wasn't just an illusion. It was just as he feared; another body with the same sewage smell coming from the other eight crates. The one A.J. opened was different though.

"Why would the Carnales need bodies for? Human Trafficking's not their usual thing."

"You got me." Armando said looking closer at the body. "It looks female: early thirties. From the swollen bags under her eyes, she hasn't slept a day since she got shipped out."

"Do the rest of these crates have pregnant women inside?" A.J. asked after he pulled down some hay off of the woman's stomach.

"Aye dios mio…" He replied with shock putting his hand on her stomach. "The baby's alive. How can that be?"

"She had something in her hand. It's in Spanish." A.J. said handing him a piece of crumpled paper.

Puerto Rican and Colombian language had very distinct words that somewhat threw Armando off a bit skimming through the note. From what he was able to make out, the message came from somebody of authority, if not a bit perverse in the writing. Human Trafficking may not have been Alejandro's M.O., but Hector and especially Angelo did not shy away from cringe worthy activities. Neither put it past them to bring something new to their criminal empire with their father hardly involved in Carnales business. The note stated that it wasn't personal, just that Colombia never forgets when they are being disgraced for fools.

It ended with, "Enjoy your spoils of war, old friend. I already had my taste with this one. If she is with child, dispose of it." Armando didn't go any further when he was trying to get the wind back in his lungs. A.J. on the other hand was as pissed as he ever was seeing a pregnant woman being used as cargo goods. Knowing he came out of a dead womb hit him harder seeing it in person.

"We're going to have to get them out one at a time. I don't know how long…" He said before getting cut off by an explosion outside.

The party out in the main shipyard started early when Denzel wanted to make an explosive entrance for the Carnales band to see. There was no time for negotiation or making snarky remarks from Ben; shooting on both sides commenced as Stoughton turned into a shooting gallery of red on purple. Julius got on his radio and screamed at Armando and A.J. to get their asses moving, and to leave the cargo on the freighter. A.J. refused to accept that, but neither Jules nor Ben were having it, saying the cargo was beyond anything to sell and whoever sent it was a sick son of a bitch; an understatement both thought. That was when they made the decision of easing everyone's suffering by putting bullets in their heads.

However, as great minds thought alike, Armando and A.J. weren't the only ones with that idea. A few Carnales members shot their way to the cargo hold and engaged the two sympathizing Saints as they shot their way out of the freighter with two passengers in one crate. A.J. did the honor of carrying that responsibility. Suddenly, one of the members didn't think tossing a grenade on their "precious cargo" before getting three slugs in his chest. Armando took point until they made it back outside.

Five trucks and dead Carnales members burned alongside them. Gunfights broke out while Angelo and Arianna engaged Jules, D, and Ben. Switching places, A.J. got out a rifle he took from one of the snipers and went to town on the Carnales still standing. One head shot after another, Angelo got nervous and grabbed Arianna's arm as they ran towards his red and gold Gunslinger Sedan, taking off soon after. All five Saints shot away at them until they ran out of bullets. A.J. managed to hit one of the tires, but it still sped away like it was nothing.

"Yeah, that's right pendejos! Keep running like you always do!" A.J. shouted in anger.

"Human bodies, Jules; since when do the Carnales deal in Human Trafficking, huh?" Armando wanted to know.

"Whoa, whoa hold up." Denzel interjected. "I blew up people in those trucks?!"

"That explains the smell." Ben said. "Ah, fuck. Lucky 17's a bust; we'll be lucky if our friends still count on us to deliver guns and drugs to them."

"I say we go after them." A.J. suggested. "Standing here's not gonna do shit!"

"Their time will come, hermano; just not now." Armando told him.

"He's right." Julius replied.

"Who's right?" Armando and A.J. said in unison.

"We're low on ammo and our bug zapper truck got shot up bad. The way I see it, this night is over. Let's get any dropped weapons we can find from the red shirts and take off before the 5-0 show up." Julius said.

Just before they went to look for anything salvageable, Armando got everyone's attention with the note he found in the pregnant lady's crate. Julius took a look at the crumpled correspondence, sensing the plot thickening behind the special shipment he told the others. He was going to be looking into the man behind the shipment; whether he was going to be the new buyer they've been hearing about or someone else entirely. Ten minutes later, distant sirens were heard coming fast and everybody vacated the shipyard in both the Cadillac and the shot up truck. Due to the night being a dead end, they went back to their own homes until they were to meet up at the Church the next day. Julius called them up and said by the morning he and Ben should have a better idea who they were up against.

Armando was more worried about A.J. than some sick offshore rapist. He, A.J., and D made a pit stop to Stilwater General to bring the unconscious pregnant woman for overnight observation. At least, that was what one of the doctors said before A.J. nearly went ape shit on him. What he saw in the freezer could only be understood by a fair few. Denzel did his best to calm him down, even promised him after he did a good ten stomps on Victor's head, he'd help A.J. find the guy responsible and make sure it wasn't going to happen again.

Easier said than done Armando spoke with harsh honesty, yet every fiber of his being wanted that reality to come true. A.J. stood behind at the hospital while the others went home to sleep. As Denzel went home to Renee's brownie surprise for a midnight snack, tempting as it was Armando had his own home to get to before the hard assed Tío (Uncle) found him suddenly sleepwalking away from responsibility. Thank god ¿Quién quiere ser rico licenciatura? (Who wants to be a rich bachelor?) was on until 11pm. As a child back in Bayamon, Puerto Rico he would tell tall tales about how he once owned a casino in San Juan called La Celestial Mango (The Heavenly Mango).

It was a grand ole time for bedtime stories for him, but the one thing his Uncle Ferdinand was good at was being a parental figure for him when he came to Stilwater with four year old Carlos in tow. He walked inside his one level house with all the lights off and not a peep around the corner. Just as he predicted, Ferdinand was sleeping right on the couch with an old cigarette in his hand. Armando snuck upstairs to see how Carlos was doing. Third Grade was nearly over for him come summertime. It blew his mind on how much he had grown over the last two years.

In some ways, Carlos was smarter than him he thought; one for not being in a gang. He stood over him sleeping as he bent down and gave him a kiss on his forehead. More than Carlos knew, his older brother was proud of him for being a good kid and taking care of their uncle whenever he wasn't around. Springtime for the Mendoza clan was the busiest season out of the year. Being a retired grocer back in Puerto Rico, Ferdinand kept himself busy with his garden, growing tomatoes, green beans, peppers and strawberries, even started growing guava fruit the year before.

He had been living in Armando's house long enough to know when he was being a freeloader and wanted to earn his keep staying under his roof. He lost sight of that at times, but was quickly reminded whenever muggers try to break in or Carnales vehicles driving by. They both protected each other as well as keeping Carlos's safety in check. If only safety came to Bayamon when he was a kid Armando thought. On quiet nights after he's calmed down from the tests of the day, he would sometimes have nightmares about what happened to his parents.

He would see the hurricane turning the scenery a dark grey, destroying everything it touched. He then barely saw his parents holding each other until the end with salty water clinging to the whites of his eyes. It felt like a message from the Fates; repeatedly seeing the same traumatic event over and over. Though it has been years since he woke up on a ship heading to the states, he remembered the water clashing on top of him, like gravity throwing punches solely on his head. The same nightmare this night however felt a tad different in his mind.

He was still adrift in the raging sea with no recollection what was happening on the surface, but as his body remained ever still in the water, he saw a presence. It could have been a shark, or it could have been his worst fear: a school of jellyfish. Whatever it was, it tugged his body towards a small rift in the ocean. He couldn't remember the shape exactly, but its colors were unmistakable; red and purple swirling together. As soon as he went inside the rift, a human eye revealed itself the same time he was brought back to reality. That reality had tons of energy and jumping on his bed.

"Oh, look who's up?" Armando groveled rubbing his eyes.

"Tio M is making his first Guava pancakes, hermano. Can't you smell them?"

"Ah yeah…jamming to Merengue while he cooks too."

"Guilty! I sort of found your old radio behind the TV. Well, Tio found it first and we've been dancing to it since five this morning."

"How about that…" Armando chuckled. "Are you thinking about dancing when you grow up?"

"No, that's more his thing. Maybe a detective or an explorer; I'm good at finding stuff."

"Just like that compass you found near Mount Claflin; our first camping trip with just the three of us. Tio couldn't find his rice cooker…"

"But that compass led me to it. It was stuck in a tree for some reason."

"Weird times…" Both said at once. Armando then said, "Stilwater's definitely not like any other city."

"Are you having those dreams again?" Carlos asked.

"Sometimes…they pose more questions than answers."

Ferdinand was getting testy about someone not waking up to join in on his cooking escapades of his first homegrown Guava cakes. "Coming, Tio!" Carlos shouted from the bedroom and ran out of the room soon after. Armando shook his head about being the only person with little to no energy in his body. Not to mention he was mentally kicking himself for having to sneak in his own home the night before. He could tell an off-day was coming his way.

He walked towards the only bathroom he had in the house and looked in the mirror with a half-asleep expression and not feeling ready to be a Lieutenant for Saints Row. He had forgotten today was Saturday which was the first official day in two years he, Jules, Ben, and the rest of the guys were going to train inner-city youths and banned street kids from other gangs. Jules had been looking forward to the day for weeks, and after the copout Stoughton had for them, they were going to need all the help they could get if the Row was to thrive as a street gang. He washed his face and went to the kitchen table where the aroma was overwhelming with Guava and spicy scrambled eggs. Ferdinand stood up to hug him saying, "Sobrino, Buenos días! Que me quedaba dormido otra vez eh?" (Good morning, nephew. You overslept again, huh?"

"No te preocupes tí. He saltado de la cama que despertarlo. No quiero perder la!" Carlos said.

(Don't worry uncle. I jumped on his bed to wake him. I don't want him missing out on this!)

"Usted mismo ha superado esta vez. Este olor." Armando complimented on the food.

(You have outdone yourself this time. This smells great.)

Ferdinand said enthusiastically, "Muy bien ir a cavar!" (Well go on, dig in!)

Guava jelly oozing from the pancakes instantly felt like heaven entering everyone's mouths. Armando was floored by how delicious they were. Ferdinand explained when he woke up around four in the morning to check on the garden in the backyard, he thought he was in a dream. It turned out he struck gold on the Guava seeds he was trying to grow for the last two weeks finally worked. Armando and Carlos weren't picky eaters when it came to different foods.

If it was edible or had ketchup on it, they'd eat it if it meant they didn't have to wander around the city starving. After breakfast, Carlos went over to the TV to watch cartoons while Armando and his uncle cleaned the dishes. As a kid, Ferdinand was a weird fellow when it came to having quiet conversations. Back in PR, both he and his wife once talked about couch sizes in the bathroom. This time, one of their man-to-man talks was being held over the kitchen sink. The smiles went away and the look of concern on Ferdinand's face took over.

"How was raiding "Lucky 17" last night?" His uncle asked him drying a plate.

"You want the scary version or tidbits?"

"You know which one I want."

"It wasn't what we hoped. A.J. and I stumbled onto something disturbing on a freighter coming into the shipyard: humans in wooden coffins."

"Aye, carajo Carnales, just when you think they wouldn't have stooped this low. Tell me more."

"The guys and I had it all worked out. We didn't even have to try which was odd. At first, it seemed like an ordinary shipment; Angelo was hell-bent on not letting anyone screw up his chance to prove himself to his father. I can only imagine what his brother is doing right now."

"I'm sure the "3rd Street Saints" will have a back-up plan; especially your friend Denzel. I wouldn't want to mess with him."

"Why do I feel like you're not telling me something?" Armando asked suspiciously.

"You boys have it under control. As long as you tell me everything that goes on with your crew, I'll sleep better at night." He replied putting four plates in the cabinet.

"You didn't answer my question." Armando said.

Two honks were heard outside from a co-worker of Ferdinand's. Apart from tending to the garden, he also had a day job working at Apollo's Donut shop near the Rounds Square shopping center. When the Saints were getting some traction in their household name, favors were coming through from the people they helped out. Denzel pulled some strings with a buddy of his who was working the coffee makers and hooked Ferdinand up with a job. He had been working there for eight months with emphasis on minimum wage as well as taking crap from a boss half his age.

That was when his "hard assed" personality kicked in; almost got him fired a few times if Armando hadn't stepped in to instigate. The manager there, Nigel, once told them as long as the Saints keep his business safe from Carnales activity, he would look the other way whenever he threw a fit on how things were being ran. Sometimes he acted out within reason, saying Nigel would allow other employees to drag their feet around and chain smoke on breaks. It was a good thing Big D loved his Boston Crème donuts otherwise Nigel would've had bigger problems on his hands. Two years making Saints Row, some people have come to realize they will always look out for them if the shit hits the fan, but at the end of the day, family in purple came first.

Denzel's friend, Juan drove up on the side of the house as Ferdinand said his goodbyes to both his nephews before he grabbed his apron, leaving the house. It was already 9:07 in the morning and didn't hear anything from either A.J. or Julius. His hearing on the other hand turned its attention to Carlos when he called him over to the TV for a news update on what happened at Stoughton Shipyard. When they got to the part about the freighter's cargo, Armando panicked for a second and shut the TV off hoping he didn't hear the details. His uncle once told him when Carlos becomes a man and learns about the harsh realities of Stilwater, he would conclude the tale about what happened to their parents in Bayamon.

Problem was, Armando was the grown sibling of the two and didn't know about the truth himself. Maybe it was time to start he thought. That was when Benjamin gave him a ring to come to the Church as soon as he could; "Game time, Lieutenant!" He said with enthusiasm.

"If it's grown-up stuff, I can go to my friend's house this morning." Carlos said.

"You know little hermano? Not today." He relied holding his left hand. "I'm going to take you to a Church."

"Is that where A.J. and Denzel are?"

"It's another home; where the Purple Heart is. The 3rd Street Saints are growing as a street gang, you know? What you're about to see today is the continuance of that growth. If things go muy bien, maybe Tio won't have to babysit you as much and we can spend more time together."

"I don't mind it. He can be a fun guy when he wants to be." Carlos said before a thought popped up. "Wait! Can I be a Saint too? I can be a..a..Saint Detective, find things that could help you guys. Let's go, we don't have time to waste!"

Armando chuckled and applauded his bouncing energy, but he didn't let Carlos go too far with what he was thinking. A part of him felt he was making a mistake letting him tag along, but he was already eight years old and growing fast in an already fast paced city. Before he knew it, his little hermano would be a young adult making his own decisions and wouldn't need his big brother helping him out. Then he discarded such thinking as they went out to his purple Zimos car, telling Carlos to congelar (freeze) for a second as he told him the Church was both a dangerous place and a safe one to be in. Carlos agreed to do exactly as he said and to not talk to anyone unless it's the original five Saints.

It was going to be a big step for Armando as well, taking on a leadership role and having no clue what area of expertise he had that would benefit the Saints. He took a deep breath before driving off. As he, A.J., and Denzel made their way to the Row, Julius and Ben smoked a couple puffs of weed before facing a crowd of former gang members and young homies with something to prove. Julius was sitting on top of a broken down podium smoking mostly while Ben kept coughing up a lung trying to smoke a Cuban cigar they raided on a past shipment.

"Man, what is wrong with you?" Julius asked.

"It's these fucking cigars, nigga." Ben replied coughing. "Each puff feels like someone's playing bongo drums on my lungs. I don't know how the Cubans do it."

Giving Julius the cigar to try out, he said, "Give it here, let me try." After a few seconds holding back and Ben giving him a deadly smirk, he coughed as thick smoke flew out of his mouth in puffs. "That's some mature shit right there."

"I swiped these babies from the fourth shipment; just a month after that Carnales house party we crashed. I think I'll save them for a special occasion."

"Today is one of those occasions, brother. We're finally running a crew again; like the old days."

"Vice Kings didn't last very long, did they?" Ben asked with a hint of regret in his voice. "Let's be damn sure the Saints are going to prosper this time."

"I couldn't agree more, Ben."

"What's the situation with A.J.? Last I heard he was still at the hospital with that pregnant lady from the freighter."

Speak of the devil Ben said seeing A.J. running through a side entrance to the Church. "It's all good. I'm here!" He told them, followed by Julius asking how the lady was at the hospital. A.J. took a moment to catch his breath before saying the kid she was carrying was going to be fine; a little off one of the doctors told him, but fine nonetheless. In his mind, he was just glad the baby was going to be delivered while the mother was in a coma.

He then tabled the sad story and said ex-gangbangers and homies were starting to form up outside, waiting for their lives to "drastically change for the good of Stilwater" as Jules would put it. When all three went outside to meet up with Armando, Big D, and Carlos, Ben looked to the crowd with confidence in his pose. As Julius observed the crowd, his heart stopped for a sec when he saw a familiar face giving him a slight smile and a wink. He tried to get Ben's attention, but his focus was straight and to the point, leaving him and the others a little on the nervous side. Ben then whistled to the crowd to settle down before their first step into earning their purple flags.

"Alright, this is it! The crew and I like to thank y'all for coming to 3rd Street this morning. Now I see some ex-gangbangers who got kicked out of other crews, and young homies who think they're hard and shit. Let's get one thing clear: when you represent Saints Row, you do it 'cause you feel it in your heart, you do it knowing any other crew out there would either leave you behind or leave you for dead. You're here because you want to prove yourself. You're here because you want to make a difference in people's lives; people you care about everyday. Shit, you're probably here for easy access to Tee 'N' Ay and booze."

He said as the crowd agreed lightly. "Whatever your reasons are, we're in it together. If you came here looking to escape from the police, or dangerous people who want your head on a goddamn pike, then you came to the right place. As you know in recent months, on newspapers and TV, the Saints have been busy jamming up Los Carnales operations and making them look like jackasses in front of guys like Angelo Lopez and Manuel Orejuelas. Julius, got anything to add?"

"How many of you have been wronged by the Carnales?" He asked as a good thirteen hands went up with a few on the iffy side. Julius walked down the stone steps of the Church and into the crowd as he pointed towards individuals who were affected by the Lopez reign. The more he walked towards a certain person who was eyeing him the whole time, the more he noticed Ben getting suspicious by what he was doing. As for Armando, Carlos stood very close to him, gripping his hand tighter than ever before. "Está bien hermano pequeño. Yo lo tengo." (It's okay little brother. I got you.) He told Carlos, trying to put him at ease. A.J. stood next to him and gave Carlos a nod that he was going to be okay on his watch too.

"Who's Jules talking to?" Ben whispered to Denzel.

"From here, it looks like the ladies want in on the Saints too. She does look familiar though." He said fixing his eyes at her.

All of a sudden, one guy called out, "Where's the food?! I'm fucking starving over here!" The rest of the crowd started to get noisy again, asking for food while others wanted to know what was going to happen next. Julius moved around the crowd until he got to none other than Ben's younger sister, Angela. She wore black and dark purple sweats and wore a headband slantways. "Damn..." Julius said to himself in shock. She looked like she rolled out of bed and came to the ghetto jungle as her way of blending into the crowd of smoke and booze smelling types.

"Tough crowd y'all got here, Jules." Angela said.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I told you I was gonna tell him."

"I'm not here for that. I'm here to become a Saint." She said before shouting to everyone else.

He grabbed her arm and said, "Like hell you are. Your brother's right over there, and if he finds out…" Julius stressed to her before a shotgun blast went off.

Arguments rang all over the place about wanting to be a Saint, saying they're not capable of going after a gang that has stood tall for years, while other stragglers wanted to go inside the Church and smoke a bong or two. The gun blast echoed half of the entire neighborhood of the Row. What caused it to go off came in the shape of a scrawny, Chinese kid with spiky hair and dark blue sunglasses, wearing clothes from "Off the Rack". Most of the crowd kept themselves at a distance from him; for good reason too Julius thought. He heard of the kid's reputation for blowing stuff up in Chinatown, the Barrio, any place the Carnales handled their drug deals and joyrides. He also had a reputation for knowing his way around a gun, or by ghetto terms, a gat.

"So, this is the gang that's going cause the shit storm on the Carnales parade, huh? It doesn't look like much of a gang, but hey, you gotta start somewhere." He said looking around the crowd. "What's good, Julius?"

"Johnny…?" Angela asked.

"Angie! Give me some love, sweetheart." He said kissing her on the cheek.

"Nigga Ben's about to pop a vein…" A.J. whispered in sing-song to Armando.

"I knew Angela was going to do something like this." Armando replied.

"She never fucking listens. Y'all take over for me. I need to talk to my best friend and sister for a minute." Ben said with a straight face and a cold look in his eyes.

The three remaining Saints stood by each other feeling the cold on their left shoulders. While Ben, Johnny, and the two lovebirds moved away from the crowd, they made their way to ground level with the other guys to get the groundwork going. Speaking of groundwork, it was feeling slippery and thin like ice at the Lopez Mansion. Hector was freaking out at how Angelo and Arianna couldn't secure the shipment in Stoughton. It was to be the turning point for the Carnales when it came to the drug business.

Since Alejandro went into politics, many of the old buyers and drug suppliers took their business elsewhere as soon as they heard he stepped down as head of the family. Hector and Manuel did the best they could to recover their losses with Manuel trying to get in touch with the Colombians for some overseas profit until they could get back to business in the states. A rift grew between Hector and his father on the way things were being done in the past, but it grew even wider for Angelo. After eight shipments of vital weapons caches and Colombian cocaine stuffed in toy store teddy bears, enough was enough Hector thought. All the lieutenants, Victor included, sat outback by the pool around a business table as Hector vented on how much of a shadow Los Carnales was turning into.

"Un-fucking-acceptable; Stoughton was supposed to be our golden ticket to new buyers after the ones we lost! Dios, lo que es nuestra familia en estoy rodeado de idiotas!"

(God, what is our family turning into? I'm surrounded by idiots!)

"Mira Hector, last night I fucked up, okay? But I'm not the only one you should be scolding."

"Then who should I yell at, baby brother; my fiancée? She's a negotiator, not a fighter."

"It's my fault too, Hector." Arianna stressed to him.

"Ari, you were doing your job. You didn't know the shipyard was going to be ambushed." Hector said.

"Es en esas ratas púrpura de third street. Me encantaría a darles de comer a mis perros." Victor chimed in.

(It's those purple rats from third-street. I would love to feed them to my dogs.)

"Another street gang, here in Stilwater?" Manuel asked.

"You seemed shocked." Hector said.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later, Hector. This isn't looking good for any of us."

"I know a few businessmen in France who owe me a few favors during my time as an entrepreneur there. I also got ahold of some of my mother's jewels, sold them off to some friends in Ireland and a few casino owners in Las Vegas. It should keep us financially sound for the time being."

"And you didn't think to bring this up with me?" Angelo asked.

"Your mother's inheritance; she loved those jewels." Hector told her.

"Desperate times, mon amour (my love)." Arianna replied holding his hand.

"Eh, Sr. Orejuelas. Quien es nuestro nuevo comprador para futuras entregas?"

(Eh, Mr. Orejuelas. Who is our new buyer for future deliveries?)

Manuel had the personal misfortune to introduce an old friend of the Lopez family. Enrique Padilla he was called; an old General in the Colombian military, a real people person in every sense of the word. He, Manuel, and Alejandro were soldiers during a civil war conflict back in 1964. By the end of the war, the Cartel, the FARCS troops, the Government, all forms partaking in the conflict dubbed the '60s era as La Violencia: a time where social instability and freedom were walking on tight ropes to see which was going to fall first. All three were tasked to track down a Colombian Government Official issuing red tape for some heinous activity that would crush the most hardened of soldiers.

According to their commanding officers, a Colombian scientist named Andres Wilber was conducting experiments to mold poor people into strong allies for Paramilitary factions. The procedure went just about any ordinary conflict: rip the weak from their homes and families, transport them to an undisclosed location; no radio contact, away from hot zones, and with a few willing participants the experiment can begin. Andres had contacts within the communist trade to transport supplies to his underground army bunker where he took the horribly disfigured and weak to be reborn again. Between the three soldiers, Padilla was the highest ranking officer to detract away from standard protocol to get the job done. He didn't care if he was compromised or got kidnapped by terrorists.

As La Violencia took a toll on his psyche, the events leading up to Wilber's operations became convoluted as he aged. All he could remember was the vivid details he saw in that bunker. He remembered the 100+ heat burning on his forehead, the sweat coursing through his palms as he gripped rusty instruments for his own experiment. What they saw forty years ago was a culmination of cannibalism, serial murder, and treasonous affront for Padilla's actions. Over the years since Colombia, Manuel and Alejandro tried to forget what happened.

From what Manuel told the others, their orders were never to capture Andres at all, saying there were soldiers playing undercover moles to expose his sadistic activities. Padilla's reasons for going to the bunker remained with him, and because of that he was discharged for treason against the FARC. That was when the psychosis of his mind began to unravel. The FARC, living through war was his calling. Born from poverty and not much ambition to live for anything, it was the only thing he was able to excel at.

There was also the fact not even his two best friends stood in for him during sentencing hearings in Panama City. Since coming to America with his two sons, if there was one thing he feared other than Padilla, was karma. Between them, he was his closest friend, and with that he gave Padilla a second chance to atone for past sins in Colombia. Manuel only found out about it a week before the Stoughton shipment came through. He was just as shocked as everyone sitting at the table when he came to realize what the shipment was in the first place.

Manuel looked up at Hector with horror in his eyes, "Human cargo…men that were desgarrado (torn apart) by Andres's experiments. ¡Oh, dios mío…"

"What is it?" Hector asked.

"Padilla...he is the new buyer. I should have known it back then but…"

"He's coming to Stilwater?" Arianna asked.

"I'm afraid so, my dear. Hector, you and I need to go downtown to see your father."

"No, if that cerdo enfermo (sick pig) wants to bring trouble in _my_ city, I'll deal with him myself." Hector said.

"It's not that simple. The Colombians gave their blessing for him to come to Stilwater and work out a deal with your father. If we try to off him, it will be an all-out bloodbath. The Lopez family won't stay whole for long." Manuel explained to him.

"Fair enough, Angelo, I need and you Victor to go back and tidy up Stoughton. Make sure the workers are compensated and the docking bay remains open. I already paid off the police so they won't interfere with our business. Arianna, take a ride down to Poseidon Alley, Frostworth, and Prawn Court. Convince them their deliveries are delayed and will be returned in kind. You have a friend in Nob Hill, do you not?"

"Carissa. I'll get her on the phone on the way to Poseidon." She replied.

"Good." He said looking at everybody. "Well Manuel, let's go see my father."

The Lopez situation went from stressful to downright frightening when Manuel gave Hector and Angelo the background on Padilla. Not because of his love for violence, or the fact he did whatever it took to get the job done, but in Hector's mind he had this feeling their family might be under new management if given easy access. Their father only spoke of him twice, saying he was the reason he got out of Colombia alive even when their mother didn't. However, the mystery of his true nature was unknown. No one at that table was able to put their finger on it, only to remain cautious and think of other options to save face.

On the ride back from Saints Row, two siblings argued non-stop about what a Saint can and cannot do. Julius stayed behind to oversee the canonizing of new blood while Angela and Benjamin were forced to teach each other on what was best for anyone. Suffice it to say, raised voices eclipsed over a car next to them playing music at a stoplight.

"You can never come back to 3rd Street ever again, you hear me?" Ben said sternly.

"You're the one acting like a child! Embarrassing me in front of my future homies in purple; the fuck is wrong with you?" Angela asked.

"The fuck is wrong with me; you dressin' in our colors when you haven't been canonized yet. And you ain't gettin' canonized while I'm still breathing."

"It was to show _support_ for Saints Row. I'm not worried about taking a black eye and some bruises. I've been taking boxing classes."

"With dad's money…?"

"It's all our money, fool! We made it out of Sunnyvale with nothing but bullshit in our way. At least I spend responsibly." Angela pointed out.

"Oh, it's legit spending huh? Apart from those boxing classes you take at the Dome, there's the makeup, the facials, this getup you wore to the Church. What would've happened if neither I nor Julius was there to see you? Those "future homies" you saw are some of the coldest motherfuckers ever to walk these streets, some who got their flags stripped from them for bullshit reasons."

"Johnny has my back, Big D has my back, even Armando does." Angela replied.

Benjamin flipped out all of a sudden and said, "That's NOT the fucking point!" He then took a deep breath to calm himself down and said, "Angie, I get it. You want to help us out like you help dad whenever I'm not around. But you have to understand sis, once all of Stilwater knows who the Saints are, it's a wrap. There ain't no going back. There's more to it than just throwing punches and dropping fools wearing red flags."

"I know that, Ben." She stressed to him. "I was there the day Alejandro attacked Sunnyvale. I'll never forget it. Mikey, Sandra, Jeffrey J…I've gotten nothing but nightmares from that day."

"Me too…the Vice Kings seemed like a good idea at the time. You wanna know the difference between taking back Sunnyvale and taking over 3rd Street? Nil…'cause we got lucky the second time."

"Ben…" Angela spoke softly.

"Please, Angela, just stay away from Saints Row. Stay away from Julius. He's solid and all, but he has this hidden agenda I can't find yet. Promise me."

"May I speak?" She asked as he signaled her to do so. "If you don't want me near the Row, that's fine. But I wanna help the Saints be known in this city. Jules told me the things you guys have been doing to help people. I walk down these streets and people talk, saying someday the Carnales will be no more, that we're sculpting a brighter future with each passing day. I just want to do more. We're family..."

Stubbornness came with the package of being a King. Ben wanted to revitalize the way the streets did things, Julius wanted to guide gang members on the straight path in order to stay alive, and for Angela she didn't know where she stood with either man. She was never one to run away from a dangerous situation; even as kids she and Julius would get into all sorts of trouble. Most of the time, it ended up with them being held overnight in jail, but to Angela she took it as a messed up learning experience of what life was like behind bars. She was born into gang territory; Sunnyvale made her into the stubborn girl she was back then.

That was what Ben was afraid of. Apart from assuming Julius having a hidden agenda for the Saints, Ben too had second thoughts about the Vice Kings idea. It was still too early to tell he thought. It's been years since he felt he was in the driver's seat of a street gang. On the way back to their father's tailoring shop in Nob Hill, he had plenty of time to think about his future priorities for himself as well as his family. When it came to earning the purple colors for Saints Row, there were three main tasks a canonized member had to uphold: gain respect from the people, establish connections from various businesses that stemmed from strip joints to drug trafficking, and having a homies' back no matter what.

Like any street gang, trust and brotherhood were paramount to bullets and money. You can have a million dollars and an arsenal that would put Friendly Fire places out of business, but what comes after; a blacklist of enemies, child support, eating alone with no one to talk to? There was nothing more important than having brothers in purple having your back in shitty times. Julius expressed this as he was explaining the meaning behind "canonizing".

"Canonizing is a word for "adjusting" to a new environment, or in this case, beating the living shit out of the other guy before he does the same to you." He said as the group fought each other in hand-to-combat with A.J., Armando, and Denzel. "This exercise will determine who will earn their colors and who goes home. Remember, if you are able to pin my lieutenants to the ground with no chance of them getting back up, you've earned your colors. If your ass gets handed to you Big D for example, do yourself a favor and lose gracefully. Good elbow, Johnny!"

"Not bad, man." A.J. said catching his breath.

"You getting' tired on me, motherfucker? Let's go!" Johnny said as they continued to fight each other.

Armando went from street brawling to normal sparring with a new blood from Kiado Valley, East Stilwater. The kid ran up and tried to pin him on the ground before his right arm got grabbed, and was flipped over on his back. Using both his legs, he got back up and kept going.

"Gotta hand it to you, ese. You know how to take a punch." Armando said grabbing him by his shirt and kicking him in his stomach. "You sure you don't want to sit down?"

"You kiddin' me; I can do this shit all day." He replied as he continued fending him off.

"You don't look like you get in a lot of fights."

"I'm more of a tactician than a brawler. But if it comes down to defending my home boys, I'll keep taking punches 'til they can't hit no more."

"I like your style." Armando said grabbing his right fist mid-way towards his face. "What's your name?"

"Dexter Jackson, but you can call me Dex." He said leaping over Armando's head, giving his right leg a Charlie horse and pushing him on the ground.

Armando looked up at Dex with an affirming look on his face saying, "Welcome to Saints Row."

As the canonizing continued with hot heads and slack jaws going against each other, Carlos stood like a statue next to Julius feeling every punch, every knockout as if they were being done on him. At first, he was afraid of how he might handle himself in a fight the day he would be old enough to join the Saints. Though he and Armando didn't really talk about him joining the Row, there would be times Carlos would bring up the subject on trying to help his brother take the fight to the Carnales; it'd be like old times he used to say. Wrestling, rough housing; for an eight year old kid he had quick legs and knew how to break away from his brother's chokeholds after six to ten tries. As much as he didn't like to see blood flying from people's mouths, his eyes remained fixed on the whole thing before he got startled by Julius.

He asked the little man if he was good followed by Carlos nodding his head in an unsure way. Julius then reminded him that canonizing is the only way to know if a man is willing to do the harshest thing for the good of the Row. The true test of a Saint he told him was to know not when to take a life, but to do so for the right reasons. The Carnales are the past and present, but there will be others to replace them long after they're gone. That's the struggle, that's the cost one has to be willing to pay to ensure those you care about are safe. A Saint has to have strength, endurance, keeping both eyes intact so you could see the challenges ahead with a clear view.

But most of all Julius stressed to him, a Saint has to be smart. Carlos was scared and intrigued at the same time, mostly scared because he saw Denzel in action. His size gave him a slight advantage over the new bloods. Eighteen new bloods entered the fray of the Church; only ten remained including Johnny Gat and Dex. Julius whistled everyone to stop what they were doing.

"Woo, I need to hit the gym more often." Dex said to himself catching his breath.

"We're done already?! When's the next round, Julius?" Johnny asked cracking his knuckles.

"It looks like we got ourselves new soldiers, Jules." Denzel said as one guy was crawling away from him. "Need a hand, my man?"

Johnny interrupted and said, "Hey, wait a second. I didn't go up against your man, D over here."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Gat." Denzel replied.

"_That's_ what I'm talking about! Every motherfucker here knows how to throw down. The ten of you still standing, congratulations. You've earned your colors today. But don't get cocky now, you feel me? Just because you know how to throw down doesn't make you a bad ass. There's more to being a Saint than making the other motherfucker bleed from the inside. Now tomorrow, my brothers and I will place y'all in different areas of expertise as we continue our fight against the Carnales. I know there are some of you who have a specific skill they'd like to bring to the Row. Make sure you bring it up by midday tomorrow."

"Way I see it, y'all got twelve hours until the next step you take in being a Saint. I suggest you either rest, get laid, or get drunk." A.J. brought up.

"Hell, do all three. Sounds like a fucking plan to me!" Johnny shouted as the crowd chuckled.

"Benjamin King should be here with the purple flags any day now. As for the rest of you, better luck next time." Julius concluded.

Two hours of throwing ass beatings towards different sets really set things into perspective for some people. It was just a matter of maintaining a tight nit brotherhood amongst the boys in purple, but Julius felt with Johnny Gat and Dex on his side, the rest of the bunch will fall in line soon enough. Ben came back a few minutes after the canonizing and came just in time to distribute hot off the press purple shirts, all in different sizes. As Armando, A.J., and D were giving out the shirts to the bloody winners of Saint-hood, tension grew between Jules and Ben. A.J. was getting nervous one of them was going to throw the first punch and the entire day would have been for nothing.

They kept themselves at a distance from each other as they helped up the downed homies and sent them on their way. Later on that day, after Armando and the others took the new recruits out to celebrate Julius stayed behind and worked inside the broken down Church working on plans to renovate it. They had a few hideouts they took from the Carnales as well as a few outback sites around the Red Light District, but Julius felt the inception of being a turning point for gang life started with the Row's church. He owed that much to a Priest he used to know as a boy; Father Mckinley. Walking through its' barren halls and stepping over broken seats that began to rot, he could still feel the old history behind what happened.

This was back when Alejandro Lopez was a ruthless killer, and wanted to make his presence known to everywhere he'd set his eyes upon. To this day, the mystery to the reason why he wanted to be Mayor of the city was still unknown to him. Apart from gaining more control, he was a protected war criminal by the Colombians. Why would Stilwater want to elect a man with the oldest history of violence and bloodshed bestowed upon it? He kept that question in the back of his mind while drawing up some blueprints for an office type space in the Church. As he was working, he heard his name get called, "Julius, you in here? We need to have a man-to-man, brother. It's important."

Julius put down his pencil and walked out into the main area where Ben stood before him with concern riddled on his face. He kept his composure, having somewhat of an idea what this conversation was going to be about.

"The room is free; talk." Julius told him.

"What are you doing?"

"Drawing up some schematics for the Church; about damn time this place needs sprucing up."

"That's good." Ben replied walking to his left. "Guess you wondering why I didn't show up to the canonizing."

"Where the fuck were you, Ben? I had to work the whole thing by myself. Where'd you take Angela?"

"That's what I came here for. This shit between you and my sister, it ends now you feel me?" Ben asked.

"My nigger…I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh it's like that, huh? I know you two have a thing for each other and instead of being an asshole brother about it, I came to you up front to ask that you don't see her anymore."

Julius chuckled a great deal before replying, "You really think you can tell me what the fuck to do, Benjamin? I'm a grown ass man. When Sunnyvale was beating me down, I fought back."

"With me dusting your ass off and finishing the rest of the fight for you…then again, you always were a lover instead of a fighter."

"Is there a point you trying to get to? 'Cause I got a lot of work to do."

"I know how you are with women, Jules. You're a heart breaker. You lead them on when it's interesting then you drop them off when you get bored." Ben said, walking up close and personal to him. "Apart from my pops, Angie's all I got. I'll say this one last time, if you _ever_ try to get it in with my sister behind my back, I'll set your ass straight. Friendship won't mean shit after that."

"You really must hate me, do you Ben? Maybe if you weren't hustling so hard and actually visit your family once in a while, Angela wouldn't have to come to me crying her eyes out. She can make her own decisions, and she chose me, and I won't shut her out like you do."

Ben suddenly grabbed him by the shirt with his left fist raised, ready to take apart Julius's face. There was only one thing holding him back: Saints Row. He promised both himself and Julius that they were going to work together to make the 3rd Street Saints work in their favor. As much as he hated to admit it, the Vice Kings idea they had back in Sunnyvale was short lived and met its end by the Carnales. Since dressing in purple, he felt the respect surging from the city's people, putting the Lopez brothers in a nervous position and hope to continue that streak until there was no more gangs running things. He released Julius, and biting his tongue with every ounce of willpower he had for his sister, all he said to him was to be mindful on what being a leader of a gang is. "Power can easily clog someone's judgment if one is not careful of exercising it. See you on the flip side…brother."

After warnings were exchanged, they left each other to go about their business in expanding the Row. As Julius sat down on the table where he had his blueprints on, he took what Ben said to heart about Angela being in grave danger if their secret relationship took an ugly turn. She had a good head on her shoulders, but like Ben, she was just as stubborn. She had a tendency to not take things seriously; for now that was all Jules needed from her: someone with a cool head and capable to take on whatever Stilwater can throw at her. As he looked back on everything that has happened in the past two years, he knew they were just getting started. As he looked ahead, the struggle was only going to get greater. He was ready.

26


	3. Chapter 3: Rift between brothers

Rift between Brothers

Armando continued to immerse himself in the hazy recesses of his mind. The effects of Drew's concoction in the sauna he sat in expanded his repressed memories like a series of TV channels presented all at once. All he had to do was choose, but some choices weren't that simple to decide. Jumping from one memory to another took time and some willpower to channel through every fiber of his body. As vague a description Drew gave him about the pink mist surging around Armando in the sauna, he had complete control to see where he wanted to go next.

First the house warming party at the Lopez Mansion, then the formation of Saints Row '88; memory lane brought a lot of nostalgia back. However, the rest of the world felt he was just avoiding the reason why he came to the U.K. in the first place. After experiencing two major flashbacks of his life, Armando started to feel joint pain on his biceps and some discomfort in his lower stomach. Drew's voice entered his subconscious to ease the physical discomfort he was focusing on.

"_You've been inside your thinking zone for quite some time." _Drew spoke telepathically.

"I'm alright." Armando replied calmly inhaling and exhaling.

"_You sure about that; your arm muscles and stomach declare otherwise."_

"Maybe I ate too fast at the Wharf. Feels like months since I had a warm meal."

"_That's the price of leading a brotherhood in exile. We do what we must to stay constant in this world. There have been days where I myself wanted things to just…end."_

"How are you talking to me?"

"_We share a connection to the elements of where we stand. I stand with my Lake Brothers and Sisters, and you have your Saints, but we were both shunned from where we came from; Parfum du loup."_

"What's that?" Armando asked.

"_It is where you will go next. Mate, if you are to understand who she was, who she really was, then it's time for you to meet her again on opposite sides of the battlefield so to speak. She was quite a vision for her time."_

"Did you know about Arianna?"

"_Heh, that's another story altogether. Let's just leave it at that, yeah?"_

And just as Drew's voice faded away from his mind, Armando had a good idea on where to go next. The late '80s became a game changer on both sides on the industrial battlefield. Saints Row was expanding throughout neighborhoods such as Mission Beach leading to Shivington while the Carnales kept their boots firm to the ground thanks to an old Colombian Military officer named Enrique Padilla. Once an old friend of Alejandro and Manuel, their friendship was on the waning side as each brand leadership was called into question. Hector and Angelo maintained the peace between their business partners and territory watchers while the big wigs kept arguing amongst themselves on how to take Los Carnales into the future.

From July of 1988 to the cold winter months of '89, their gang was on the verge of splitting apart. That was when Arianna came up with a plan of keeping her newfound family in-laws whole. Right off the bat, during a Sunday dinner she addressed her fiancée, Manuel, Angelo, her father-in-law that the 3rd Street Saints were the true threat to Stilwater, and to all they had fought so long to keep. She also brought up rumors up in Nob Hill her friend and business owner, Carissa told her about how the two main founders of the Saints were doing just as bad as they were in keeping the peace. Padilla almost popped a few veins from the fact of "keeping the peace" was just a metaphor for prolonging the inevitable demise of a few purple rodents shitting all over their crown jewel of a city.

Arianna made it clear they were beyond petty arguments and shifts in who should be running things within the gang. In spite of losing seventeen shipments the year before, their off-shore deliveries back to Morocco and Panama have transpired to be fruitful investments thanks to Manuel's contacts in those territories. For the duration of that dinner, the air around them started to go from tense to neutral. Padilla was cooking up an idea in his mind about eliminating the competition without hurting it for others to have a slice. Hector chimed in before he could say anything with a special announcement.

He tapped on his wine glass and told his entire family they were finally tying the knot. Alejandro burst with excitement, congratulating his eldest son for taking the next step in his life as a family man. Padilla on the other hand remained seated and only elevated his glass to Hector with a somewhat grim look on his face. Peace in his mind was merely a pipe dream during his time in La Violencia. At times, he wondered if being expelled from Colombia for war crimes was the best for him.

Choice was a pipe dream as well back in the violent '60s. Out of the old war stories he and Alejandro use to tell each other every now and again, the only thing that reminded him of home was the mistake that took place on a Colombian retreat. Manuel's stomach churned of the real truth behind the pregnant girl on that freighter. Padilla praised god everyday she didn't burn to death when the Stoughton Shipyard was attacked by the Saints. Since that time, as Saints Row was rallying newly canonized members, Alejandro overruled Hector's position on not having Padilla involved with his own men.

He turned a bunch trigger happy psychos into obedient, killing machines who only saw the color purple as the real threat. However, his drill tactics were brutal to the point the Carnales were shooting anything that resembled a Saint supporter. If any of them refused to follow Padilla's order would be executed just as quickly. Angelo on the other hand didn't mind his advice and his training techniques. It bettered him as a warrior on the streets. Victor even gave Padilla a run for his prowess in battle.

Disagreements and fighting grew in Alejandro's political chambers that it drove him to the point of banning Hector from his legitimate place of business. The Mayoral campaign was rushing to a close and with no competitors brave enough to take on the founding member of the Carnales, Capitol Hill saw his influence swaying the naysayers left and right. He took his campaign and used it as a force for change, making his crew not only feared, but respected which a majority was lost since the Saints entered the picture. Like a soldier taking his first step into a battle, he faced Stilwater's diverse citizens head on and addressed the Saints were a cautionary tale, but nothing to lose anyone's head over. Gang members in purple usually operated well during the spring and all throughout summer, evading and taking out any red flags entering their controlled neighborhoods.

That was until October of 1989 when Alejandro was starting to feel the sting of loss. He'd been avoiding the Saints issue for the past four and a half months; Padilla was getting beyond tired and pissed off of waiting. He took it upon himself to produce an all-out war with the Saints to determine once and for all the Carnales were there to stay. "After tonight, no purple rat shall stink up our empire. Stilwater belongs to us!" Padilla said as if he had a hand in controlling the city.

Whatever the case, Alejandro wanted this "red vs. purple" brigade to take place at a desolate location, away from innocent people. When Padilla accepted the terms, he, Hector, Angelo, and Victor rallied their men to challenge the Saints at the one place where it was a last defense trying to take Sunyvale Gardens back in the seventies. Although he didn't come out and say it out loud, Padilla saw it in his eyes he was looking for payback from being run out of the territory by a bunch no-named gangstas with a lucky streak as Alejandro put it. Armando remembered the night like it was yesterday. Julius and Ben were getting arrogant as their friction for leadership started affecting the members around them.

Only a few capable Saints like Johnny Gat, Dex, A.J., and Denzel felt the fumes of the Carnales growing stronger as their grip over the city became weaker with each passing year. Armando and the others took about thirty Saints with them to Shivington where the war was going to take place. And just in the blink of an eye…an explosion happened. Armando was glued to the road as he heard muffled sounds of bullets going off in every direction. He then looked to his left and saw a burning vehicle with four homies in purple roasting at the steering wheel.

He got on all fours as he struggled to breathe, grabbed an NR4 off the ground and twice he coughed getting back on his feet. Moving through the battle ridden streets, he felt they really pissed off the Carnales this time. He wouldn't be surprised if he was the only Saint left standing by the number of red and purple bodies he walked over. All of a sudden, he heard someone calling out to the open for anyone to come and give him a hand. Next thing he knew, he clenched his gun and saw himself aiming at Johnny's head behind him.

"Hey, hey man. It's me." Johnny said with AK-47 in hand.

"Johnny…? Jesus, I almost shot you." Armando said lowering his gun.

"I woulda walked it off anyway. We gotta go." He replied moving through the neighborhood, checking their corners.

"Do you know if anyone else made it; Julius, A.J., anyone?"

"Don't know, I was too busy mowing down these red fuckers 'till I saw the Lopez brothers leading a group towards the old Shivington Precinct. If we hurry, we might be able to catch them."

"That puto Padilla; he's turned Los Carnales into walking killing machines." Armando said looking past burning houses with corpses hanging around. "This is getting outta hand."

Shivington had its share of ghetto hardship and turf wars over the years by no-named gangstas trying to make a name for themselves. This however was in a whole different league Armando couldn't piece together. Since Enrique Padilla's alliance with the Carnales, red flags were getting less and less careless in their security measures on shipments and committing small forms of genocide to "contain the peace" as Mayor Lopez put it. The more Saints Julius and the others trained, the more ferocious Los Carnales became. Benjamin at times lost hope their new household name wasn't going to stick in the public eye.

Lots had changed in the past year: Lucky 17, Alejandro becoming Mayor, forging the transition of shipment buyers overseas. With every neighborhood liberated by Saints Row, another was reclaimed by Padilla and his new trained dogs. Pressure was gradually on the rise for some of the more charismatic lieutenants of the Row; Ben in particular. No one knew at the time, but Saints like Dex and Big D managed to catch on what was going on between him and Julius. As they moved further south into the neighborhood, the gunfire grew louder yet scarce at the same time.

Armando then knew about his walkie-talkie, but feeling around his waist it must've gotten crushed from the explosion he thought. He received a wake-up call from the ringing in his ears when they nearly got ran over by two Carnales Sedans with bullets flying out of them. Johnny, feeling the urge for something to explode, shouted, "Got any grenades?!" He had one in his coat pocket. He then tossed it like a football towards one of the cars coming at them with nothing left to lose.

Johnny cheered when one flew over them and into the carnage behind them. The other car wasn't too far away when Johnny ran towards one of the burning homes, and called out to the three passengers to come at him. He made his AK dance as bullets drove into the car's engine, leaving him to jump at the last second before seeing another few red flags down for the count.

"Fuck yeah! That's how a Saint gets it done!"

"Not bad, Gat; must've been a search party or something."

Static came from Johnny's radio; Julius or someone who sounded like him was trying to break through for any response from his Saints.

"_Is anyone out there?! C'mon, is there any purple motherfucka still alive?"_

"Julius, its Gat!" He spoke over the radio. "Your boy, Armando and I are still in one piece. Where're you at?"

"_We're at the old police station. Dex, A.J., a few others; we're holding ourselves up until you guys get here."_

"Where are Denzel and Angie?" Armando asked.

"_Last I checked, they were trying to get this Padilla bastard's attention. They were engaging them on West 18__th__ and Grenada. Listen, homies, don't worry about us at the station. Right now, y'all are gonna have to reach D and Angie if they have any chance of escaping. I'm counting on the both of you."_

Armando took a second to look for a vehicle that was not caught on fire before heading to West 18th Street. As soon as they were back on the road, that's when it hit them. Another thing that changed over the past year was the growing pain Angela was leaving in her brother's ass in wanting to be a Saint. She wanted to be closer to Julius and learn under Ben at the same time. When one forbade it to happen the other took her to the shooting ranges and classified them as "dates". Whatever lied ahead, Armando wanted to be damn sure no red flag was going to touch Angela by any means.

The Shivington turf war sprung from one part of the area to the next with shots firing on both sides. West 18th was known as the "high" sector of the neighborhood. Hood rats would come down there to buy weed and marijuana and party until the 5-0 show up. This time, no boy in blue was stupid enough to interfere with a Carnales affair, especially not with Padilla running the attack. Both he and Victor were taking cover behind a broken down bus as more of their soldiers engaged Denzel and Angie when they moved from one burning car to the next trying to stay alive. But in Angela's mind, that was wishful thinking.

The more they fought back, the more pissed Big D got when he saw Victor taking on the last six Saints with his bare hands. He took their weapons and broke their necks like sticks. Angela ran up to one Carnale and stabbed him in the neck, followed by using him as a shield and took on another four with her Beretta. One Carnale soldier after another, Denzel showed no mercy by using the last eight shells in his 12 gauge, making their blood glitter in the streets as he made his way up to Victor. Pretty soon, there were no more soldiers on either side to defend their lieutenants.

"Estos santos no joda." Padilla told Victor looking through the bus's broken glass.

(These Saints do not fuck around.)

"La grasa uno de ellos, ha tenido un duro para mí ya que luchó en la Calle Tercera. Deberá esperar hasta que Héctor y Angelo llegar hasta aquí?" Victor asked cracking his knuckles.

(The fat one there, he has had a hard on for me since we fought on Third Street. Shall we wait until Hector and Angelo get here?)

"Angelo es el refuerzo nuestro camino. Yo seguiré adelante y asegúrese de que cada santo es gusano comida. El cerdo púrpura es el suyo."

(Angelo is bringing reinforcements our way. I will go ahead and make sure each Saint is maggot food. The purple pig is yours.)

Padilla took his sniper rifle and went on ahead to leave Victor to do what he had to do. Angela tossed her human shield aside and shot three rounds to get his attention. Without thinking, she started running after him until Denzel called out to her, "Angela! Get back to Jules and the others. They're being held up at the old police station."

"Padilla's getting away!" Angela told him.

"Do as I say, girl! I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you."

Hearing the word "no" wasn't exactly a new thing for her. She swallowed her stubbornness, lowered her gun and said, "Fine. Come back in one piece, you feel me?"

"…Don't worry. He'll be eating Chalupas through a tube when I'm done with this greasy fuck." He said rolling up his sleeves and tossing his shotgun to the side.

Armando and Johnny drove through a couple of streets and saw a few gang members coming out to the aftermath of the Carnales chaos. Shivington was Johnny's territory a week after he joined up with the Saints. Word traveled fast he would be there to lend them a hand in the attack, but in reality that wasn't enough. Some got angry and tooled up to go find any red flags they could find while some others were too devastated to move. Armando looked out the passenger window and saw family members grieving over their hood protectors.

All that time both wondered if Saints Row was making a dent in changing people's lives. "Where'd the time go?" Armando told himself feeling tiresome. As they were getting closer to the old Police Station, Johnny noticed a straggler from a distance making headway in the same direction. Inside the old station had Julius, Dex, and A.J. along with seven other Saints members catching their breath, and forming new tactics on how to recover the losses done to the already beaten down neighborhood. Some of them were getting restless.

"So, any idea on how we take those Lopez bitches out?" One Saint asked impatiently.

Another member chimed in and said, "We sittin' in an old ass pig station and the Carnales are out tearing shit apart. My family came from Shivington. Lord knows where they could be."

"The guys are getting testy, Jules." A.J. told him. "They're more than ready to get back out there now. I know I am."

"That's out of the goddamn question, brother." Julius said out loud. "We need to regroup with the others and come up with a plan that's gonna keep us alive. Armando and Johnny are on their way back."

"Hey Julius, isn't that Angela?" Dex asked looking out one of the dusty windows.

Apart from being a boxing student, she also had fast legs going ten blocks from West 18th. Just when the night couldn't get any shittier, Angela along with Armando and Johnny came rushing back to the station where they bear witnessed to what was left of the Saints. Questions like, "Where the hell is Benjamin?" sprung to Angela's mind when the plan was surprise attack the Carnales from opposite ends of the neighborhood. He was nowhere to be found. After she and Julius hugged each other knowing both were safe, she felt compelled to know where her own brother was.

"Plans have changed, Angie. Ben…won't be joining us on this one."

"That ain't what I heard. He said he'd back us up." Angela stressed to him.

"She's right. We're getting our asses handed out there, ese." Armando brought up.

"Plus, Denzel is brawling with Victor over at West 18th. That's why I ran all the way here."

"All the more reason to move out, Julius." A.J. said. "D is strong, but if the heat gets to him…"

Johnny intervened, "What, he'll kill that bullet sponge? I say let him. Do us all a favor so we can go after those Lopez pricks."

"You're the boss, Julius." Dex said. "What'chu wanna do?"

After hearing arguments on both sides of the ghetto spectrum, Julius grabbed his Mac-10 and ordered all the Saints to move out onto West 18th. Everyone rushed out of the station and into their cars with their guns locked and loaded to finish the attack once and for all. On Big D's end with fire and body locked with one of the most dangerous men in the city, he felt drive hastening in his steps and anger cooking his fists as he laid punches into Victor in every way to bring him down. A part of him expected a challenge right out of the gate; he wanted to savor the second round after they last fought for 3rd Street. The other part of him came into mental view after sending a shotgun blast in Victor's abdomen and using the burning cars to his advantage.

Victor just kept getting up and brushed off the last few hits like they were bee stings. Both took a knee on opposite sides of the street. Denzel looked over his shotgun and saw he only had one shell left. That was when it hit him finally that maybe he should've gone for a brutal headshot the first time and saved him the throbbing headache he was feeling. Speaking of not having time on his side, reinforcements came in the shape of red Sedans packing more hardware than before.

The Carnales wanted to make damn sure not a spec of purple was left on Stilwater's map; so they brought a couple of rocket launchers to complete the human carnage left in their wake. As Victor ran towards him, at one tenth of a second Denzel saw his shotgun upwards with the last shell fired off in the sky. He returned the favor by sending his right foot to break Victor's shin, bringing him to his knees. Both looked at each other with disgust as Angelo, Hector, and Padilla came back with soldiers ready to turn Shivington into a crater. Victor looked up at him with one eye and said, "Usted lucha bien, Saint. Pero no lo suficientemente bien." (You fight well, Saint. But not well enough.)

"If you understand my "ingles" at all, no matter what you boys do, no matter how many times you kill us, you'll always be scared by one, absolute reason."

"Su tripulación. Tienes nada."

(Your crew is over. You got nothing left.)

"If there's one thing Saints Row will be known for…" He said as Victor got shot with two slugs in the chest. "We always come back for more."

The remaining Saints arrived with a purple hellfire beating in their hearts. They went to town with bullets flying past one another with Johnny going front and center towards the heart of the battle. "Vamanos," Hector shouted his men to move forward. Angelo and Padilla climbed up to the top of the bus and tried going for pot shots. Julius managed to get a lucky shot in which made Angelo almost slip off before he caught himself. The other Saints spread out on West 18th while Armando, Jules, and A.J. went over to help D off the ground. Looking at Victor, the word "dead" didn't come to mind to either one of them.

"Woo hoo, you knocked the fuck out! We got you, brother." A.J. said putting his right arm over his neck.

"Looks like you had fun without us, D." Armando said.

"Yeah…it felt good." He replied aching all over getting on his feet. He looked over Victor's body and said, "I made sure his ass was limping at least. What's it gonna take to kill this motherfucker?"

"Let's not be here when it happens." Julius said helping him over.

"Where in the hell is King?!" Armando asked.

Where was King indeed? The Saints did their best using the broken terrain around them as cover, taking out any red flag wielding rocket launchers, but with Hector pushing forward, pissing metal onto the ground, another piece was added to the board. The few gang members who survived the Shivington attack armed themselves with what they had to make a last stand. For the moment, the Saints had a twelve second window to get out while they still could. It was what Julius had in mind if he had any chance on keeping Saints Row crippled instead of hollow.

A smoke grenade came out of nowhere and hit the battlefield with thick, white smoke covering all of West 18th. Armando had a good hunch where the shot came from; he turned and looked around to see where the others were only to find they were long gone from the scene. Strangely, his ears went from hearing gunfire to complete silence. With the smoke watering his eyes, he moved through the smoke and broke into a two story home that was already on the verge of collapsing. Taking a chance with a walky he picked up off the street, he tried to get either Julius or A.J. on the line to find out what happened.

Nothing but static came from the receiving end he realized. He checked ammo in his NR4 and a rifle he got off a dead Carnale before making his way up the stairs. Creak by creak, he treaded softly to avoid anyone who might've seen him come in. That was when he realized busting through the front door ruined his element of surprise. By the time he was up the stairs and walking towards an old attic of sorts, he stood by a corner before taking a peak to see if the coast was clear.

He aimed his gun first before stepping inside, taking precious steps into the dark attic. It was more like a crack den than a place to store memorabilia; heroin needles, dime bags, moldy pizza with a few cockroaches running around it. Armando stood up straight with his palm sweating around the gun's handle. When he turned around, he saw something that would take his jugular off in seconds. It had four legs and a hybrid color uncommon to most species.

It stood by the doorway with subtle red eyes and black and manila colored fur, waiting, waiting for the time to strike Armando at any given time. He took a second to breathe calmly before whispering, "Don't do anything stupid. Put your gun away…just put it…in your pocket nice and slow. You have fast legs. Just jump over it…and don't fucking stumble. Ok…any day now, Mendoza." He took one step too loud; next thing he knew he was on the floor with a wolf's sharp teeth drawing closer and closer to his neck, like he was scoping his prey before the kill.

Armando remained motionless while the wolf stood on his stomach. Suddenly, the wolf raised his head, placing one leg after the other on the floor next to him, and for thirty seconds Armando felt this was it for him. If there was one thing he hated more than undercooked burgers at Freckle Bitches, was anything with sharp teeth and not human. He then heard someone calling the wolf back. Slowly looking up, he saw an individual petting the wolf like a house broken pet, but from what he saw, it seemed far more than just an owner caressing his pet.

They spoke to each other in a language he could barely hear or understand. After the person sent the wolf away, footsteps turned their attention to Armando. This person had the same red eyes, but in the presence of a Carnale member. Everything told him to grab his pocket knife, stab the red flag in the head and make a run for it. This one was different, more feminine like. "Stand," she said as he elevated himself upwards. Using her right hand, it caressed down his cheek before leaving a stinging cut on it.

He gritted his teeth from the sharp pain, and when she leaned forward into his left ear, she spoke, "I left my mark on you. You cross my path twice…I'll claim your life." Stern words circulated in his mind, soon fleeted the same time she disappeared from the attic. Silence ensued; cautiously looking around he composed himself before picking up his weapons and took his time getting outside. His heart skipped a beat when A.J. and Gat called out his name in the house.

"Hey, I'm up here!" Armando shouted going downstairs.

"Jesus, hermano, we thought we lost you." A.J. said.

"Julius and whoever's left retreated back to the Row." Johnny said.

"What about Padilla and Angelo?"

"That smoke bomb gave us some breathing room to slip away. Padilla and the others split before we got any more lucky shots on them." A.J. replied.

Johnny reloaded his AK and insisted, "I say we grab a car and finish the job. Ain't no way we gonna let this slide."

"And do what? You can't really absorb bullets like Victor can. Carajo…"Armando said pressing his hand against his cut cheek.

"He's right. We keep pushing our asses we'll be dead in minutes. Let's just get back to 3rd Street and plan what happens next." A.J. said walking out the front door.

"Seriously, I still got plenty of energy and bullets to burn!"

"That's an _order_, Johnny." Armando said walking past him. "Murdering and genocidio (genocide) isn't all who we are."

It doesn't matter who wins or loses. In the end, both sides suffered physical blows and losses with one side having a slight advantage over the other. In Julius's mind, the Shivington turf war was both a win and a loss. As history served, Shivington was a neutral territory for gang precedence. To them, it didn't matter who was representing the most.

After that night however, the Carnales proved they weren't to be trifled with, not like before. Back when Alejandro was in charge, no wannabe gang banger would have had the brain cells to step up to him. Those who did ended up in a casket riddled with bullets. With Hector, Angelo, and Padilla in charge, things changed for the worst. The people of Stilwater knew it, but a part of them didn't fear what would happen if the Carnales came knocking on the front door.

The only blood would be spilled in that scenario would be a red flag as purple would come in and clean up the mess. Citizens like the ones in Shivington used to be indifferent to Saints Row coming out of a carcass filled turf war on 3rd Street; now neighborhoods were rooting for them to make the city better. A couple months after the attack, Alejandro and his campaign party signed for a relief effort to compensate the loss of loved ones in that nieghborhood. Money and supplies were sent out to rebuild homes and send the injured to hospitals, but that was about the extent of it. He played it off as a non-direct public service to Stilwater, saying the ghetto neighborhoods were coming off their hinges and if not handled with haste, there would've been nothing left.

The reality of the situation was not kind to the Carnales after an inside source reporter did some digging around the aftermath. It wasn't just any turf war, it was a provoked slaughter orchestrated by a man with a hard on for killing. That plug line was printed into every newspaper all over the city. The controversy around it was so great it led back to the Mayor's attention and forced him to go behind the red tape and seek some form of justice to keep it quiet. By the time word had reached Ben's father, Eric in Sunnyvale, it tugged at his heart strings so many young men and single moms were killed needlessly in the attack.

What tugged at his heart more was the fact his own son didn't fight alongside the Saints and save some lives. He partly blamed himself for preaching his son to lead a better life for both him and Angela. What happened in Sunnyvale when Alejandro attacked the place can never leave one's mind. Eric recalled the time when a Carnale had a knife close to Angela's throat. The tears and bruises led him to snatching the knife away and kept stabbing until his dark skin was pure red.

Anyone can have a killer instinct, especially parents. That and walking into the street to see his son and Julius in yellow flags showed him a glimmer of hope. The tide of that battle drove Alejandro and his gang away from the territory by only ten Vice Kings. To this day, he still remembers how his son did what he had to keep his family from harm without adding innocent casualties to the list. On a rainy, Monday afternoon, Eric was in his tailor store in Nob Hill when Ben came by after he called him.

"Benjamin, glad you're here. Raining like cats and dogs out there?" Eric asked hanging suits on the racks.

"How can anybody jog in this weather?"

"If it's Marlon Wazowski…"

"That was the fat ass I saw skipping on the way here? I thought he learned his lesson after eating a whole cheesecake in under twenty seconds that one time."

"Yeah, thank god we left that restaurant 'fore he decided where to put the damn thing. Son, we have a talk."

"What's up?" Ben asked him.

As if he didn't hear enough lectures about his homies in purple and why he wasn't in Shivington the night the Carnales attacked it. It ended the same way the last few times with Ben trying to prove to his father he was slowly drifting away from the thug life and wanted to go a more profitable route that didn't have his brain plastered on the wall. When they went in the back room to sit down, Ben was ready to dance to the same old tune again. As a matter of fact, he didn't mind it at the time.

"I know what you're gonna say." Ben said sitting down.

"How's school goin'?" Eric asked him right off the bat.

"…It's going pretty good to be honest. I've never thought Business Management would be so insightful." He replied as his dad showed concern. "Pop, are we really gonna do this again? I'm telling you, right hand to god, I was taking a night class when it happened. Julius had everything under control so I thought he'd have this in the bag. Obviously, my heart sank when that wasn't true."

"Then how do you plan to make this right, son? Shivington's way too close to Sunnyvale. Who knows when those red bastards get riled up and start moving towards our home again?"

"It won't come to that."

"How do you know for sure?" Eric raised his voice. "Since y'all started forming the Saints, you've been drifting away from the crew little by little. Jules and the others can barely maintain the neighborhoods they're protecting, and with Lopez as fucking Mayor, the legal system looks the other way."

"How about Angie, dad; she went behind our backs to be a Saint. I told her a million times it was a bad idea. How is she gonna be somebody now that she's with Julius?"

Eric gritted his teeth as he got up and started pacing back and forth, trying to wrap his around how little Ben knew of her sister's intentions. He turned back to him and said, "Jesus Christ, I knew you've been conflicting about the thug life we led in Sunnyvale, but I didn't think you'd be so blind to what your sister's trying to do."

"Angela doesn't need a bad boy in her life. She needs to grow up and be her own person."

"Or maybe a certain brother should pull his head out of his ass and face the truth! She's reaching out to you and you're acting like a damn fool. She wants to _be_ you!"

Sitting back against a coat rack, Ben was slowly understanding why Angela was acting the way she was when she heard about a new gang being ran by two of her favorite guys. As a little girl, she was constantly scared in Sunnyvale, couldn't go to pre-school most of the time because of a dead body on the side of the road or a turf war happening outside her window. Then when the Carnales came through and her life was threatened, the easily frightened girl died inside and her brother's stubbornness took over. She wanted to learn all the tools of the trade in defending herself: gun discipline, neighborhood watch, family protection. When Ben adamantly denied her the chance of being her own woman, she took the paychecks she used working with her dad part-time and went for boxing lessons.

As she grew up, she acted out in ways to get Ben's attention, make him turn around and see where she was coming from; learn together. Eric went on about the day she became numb to the fear the Carnales bestowed upon her. That was when Ben finally understood why she wanted to become a Saint so desperately. She wanted her family back. He saw it in his dad's eyes; she never wanted to feel alone again. Julius was the first man she felt safe with next to him. Ironically, both of them heard a voice coming from the front of the store. It was none other than Julius sporting a new style as a way of representing leadership for the Row. When they came out, Eric immediately approved he was taking pride in his appearance for once.

"That's a stylish look for ya, Jules." Eric praised.

"Thank you, Mr. King. I figured a leather jacket and hat would distinguish me from the other Saints. The Carnales needs to know who's in charge."

"Damn straight. How's my little angel?"

"She's good. She's helping Renee paint her house." He replied before looking to Ben. "How are you, Ben?"

"Jules…" Ben replied.

"Y'all got some issues to iron out. I'll be right outside having a smoke." Eric said.

From there, an awkward quietness circulated between the two. Jules looked at him directly in the eye while Ben took passing glances at the floor. A minute later, Ben spoke up and said, "…Sorry I haven't been keeping touch, brother. I uh, time's been going by so fast it felt like just yesterday you, me, and the guys were in this store planning a break in the Carnales underworld. Remember that bullshit drug you and I put together; Mortimer210? Ha ha, goddamn. We should've planed better back then."

"You're out, Benjamin." Julius said coldly.

"The fuck you say…?" Ben said feeling confused.

"You heard me. Where in the _fuck_ were you that night?"

"I was at the University, taking a night class in Business Management. I know I betrayed the Row."

"No. You betrayed me. You betrayed Antwon, Armando, Big D, even Angela." Julius told him.

"Don't bring her in this discussion."

"We needed you, man. Some fucked up shit went down at Shivington. I lost twenty-two Saints, Ben. They were all slaughtered by the Lopez brothers and a washed up Colombian General. We strategized the whole damn thing two months before; you remember that? It's a good thing Dex can think and shoot at the same time. Otherwise, I wouldn't be standing here."

"Julius…"

He cut him off saying, "They were ready. They brought their A-game and wiped the streets with us. Only a few reside at the Row now. But I'm at fault too. After all, it was me who did most of the heavy lifting messing up their operations." He explained before he sat down and rubbed his eyes. "I was trying to thrust our name into the minds of Stilwater, and at every turn they just keep coming."

"You know, Jules, being a leader isn't about taking the weight of that responsibility into your own heart. Sometimes, being a leader means knowing when to step back, and reevaluate what he's doing. Build, watch, and act. It's obvious you and I haven't been maintaining what we built. It's been nothing but…bitter bullshit between us."

"Mind if I get that in writing?" Julius asked sarcastically.

"Which is why I_ should _leave the Saints; I've been holding on to the past so long it was making me arrogant. I overruled your authority when it should've been a team effort. I can't take back what happened in Shivington, but I can still fix this."

"How so," Julius asked him.

It was a long time coming for Ben to hold something deep inside his heart for so long he decided to let the nature of his intentions have their day. He wanted to move away from 3rd Street and rebuild the Vice Kings street gang. Started out as an idea, an opposing force to the Carnales hold over the city was finally coming back for a fresh start. He reminded Julius the first time they fought against Alejandro Lopez in Sunnyvale. The wannabe gang bangers and hustlers still talked about that day, calling it "the day those pendejos got sloppy."

Most likely he didn't admit it to his sons Ben told him, but back then he was a psychopath, a monster who numbed himself to the violence around him and just kept shooting whoever was in his way. Twenty-five Vice Kings entered the blood ridden fray to take Lopez head on, only ten remained. Fifteen losses compared to nearly two dozen Saints that were lost three months before. The truth was no one gang was strong enough to destroy the Carnales. That was when Ben proposed a temporary alliance with the Saints.

It would take them a year or two to get themselves together and running a full-fledged crew again, but he believed with smart planning and just the right amount of motivation, they would have a fighting chance. As Julius was hearing his ex-homies goals of partnering up and be like it was in the old days, all he did was quietly chuckle to the point where tears started coming out of his eyes.

"Something funny…?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, you; going back to a neighborhood still limping on since the '70s and taking business classes to make yourself, what; a corrupt politician? You can't be half a gang banger."

"Says who? There are many ventures I can go into on the path I'm on. The music scene is being watered down, not enough new material to keep people buying records. Who knows where I'll be in five years. I could be a Record Producer, an Investment Banker, make the Vice Kings the most legitimate gang in the city. You and I both know anything's possible in Stilwater."

"Yeah, maybe; there's something else too. Angela."

"As much as I hate it, you treat her right. I'm glad she has someone like you."

"That's why she's going back with you. She wants to be closer to her brother, and it's time I respect her wishes. It's time for me to be a man."

For the first time since they started the 3rd Street Saints, Benjamin saw the truth coming from Julius's mouth. A part of him understood the Saints have been taking some hard hits the past few years, and it's taken him this long for him to realize what he was doing wrong. Benjamin extended his right hand as they shook hands that no more mistakes were going to be made on either side. The temporary alliance for both gangs was still open to Julius he told him, but Julius alone knew that wouldn't last. They both had big egos, their own way of running a gang.

Everybody at the Row knew it, even the recently canonized ones. However, they parted on neutral terms as both walked out of Nob Hill and into what was going to be waiting for them for the rest of their lives. Being a soldier of the streets, regardless of what flag you're representing, is a one way trip. Very few can go straight, but those who keep going down the dark path either rot in jail or be six feet under. It was going to take a few years to nurse Shivington back to health.

With Ben's help and street smarts, he hit the ground running on that venture as soon as he got his Bachelor's Degree in Business and Franchising. Straight out of the gate, he, Angela, and their father set up a fundraiser in late 1990 to rebuild homes and redress any financial clout Shivington was suffering under. People talked fast in Stilwater, and at that speed did a marathon back to Alejandro's Mayor Office. News stations buzzed about the impoverished neighborhoods getting attacked by the Carnales which put his leadership in question again. To save face on his Mayoral image, Alejandro donated a lump sum of funds into the rebuilding of Shivington as well as some broken down areas in Sunnyvale as an act of good faith.

Whatever was going on behind closed doors, he was sweating like a pig and did business through conference calls and cameos. While he sweated the not-so-small stuff in his chair, the rest of the city was going through a massive August heat wave in 1992. The scorcher was so great, people decided to cook breakfast on the side of the road like eggs and a few medium rare steaks because it was so hot. Turf wars were minimal with Julius planning the future for the Saints as well as the Lopez brothers for the Carnales. The other reason gangs weren't shooting at each other was the fear of getting run over by a new gang that entered the suburbs and Downtown Districts the year before.

Though they were small time, wearing blue colors and raced cars, the people in charge of them didn't take gang relations lightly. Ever since Chinatown started rumors about a man named William Sharp, any small gang had enough brains to know not to mess with a hardened Financier with connections to the business world. Saints Row became the party scene of '92 with barbecues and booze coming together at the Church. Big D's girlfriend, Renee was the star behind the grill along with Dex. They went all out turning Dex's old college grill into a master chef of many meats: ribs, chicken, pork chops, all oozing with vintage barbecue sauce as spicy and tangy as the meats themselves. Dex's mouth kept dropping on the ground as the smell was too big for him to handle.

"God_damn_! You've outdone yourself, Renee!" Dex said admiring the food.

"You can't beat Cajun cooking, baby." She replied before calling out. "Take a seat y'all! Grub's ready!"

All twenty Saints gathered around the grill like bees surrounding honey. Dex took control of the situation by getting some of them at picnic tables which felt like triage at times. When Renee brought out the plate of ribs and pork chops, every Saint stopped fidgeting and took in the food presented to them. Denzel came up to Renee with a Corona in hand and said, "Your best work yet, baby." He said kissing her.

"Just saying, she mentioned, a combo plate of this food to the Carnales, y'all never have to kill each other again." That was when Big D took a moment to thank god today was a damn good day. Brothers in purple, food, and iced cold beer; he wouldn't have had it any other way he told Renee. Julius, A.J., and Armando came out of the Church to join their brothers in the feast. Julius stood before his fellow Saints and had them hold their heads down for grace.

"Dear lord, we thank you for this wonderful meal set upon our table today. Thank you for the guidance you have given me and my dear friends, for all the potholes we crossed along the way. Forgive us for the choices we've made over the years. They were not made lightly on anyone's part. Continue to guide us in the crazy days ahead. Amen." He concluded as everybody dug in.

Every Saint dug into the food and enjoyed the summer weather. Julius joined in for a couple drumsticks and some coleslaw. After the meal, each Lieutenant was assigned protection detail for the neighborhoods they took over. They only had eight territories to look after which was a good start Julius thought, but he wanted to go further than slowly taking over one area at a time. He never realized how huge Stilwater was until after he got serious about his leadership over the Row. Another lingering thought was Angela.

At times, he pondered over whether or not he made the right decision letting her go be with her brother where she could be safe. The only other person who usually hung with her was Renee. Inside the Church, Julius brought her inside where the conditions were cooler to talk in. She earned her place at the Row as a caretaker, one of information on a personal level. Whenever Julius or Dex needed some extra words of wisdom, she usually sends them on their way with a better handle on things.

"How's she doing?" Julius asked.

"She's good. Last we hung out she said she got a part time job as a Party Planner. She and Ben have been throwing a few block parties and some small fundraisers for Shivington. There are still some bad wounds left behind by the Carnales."

"Mistakes were made on both sides." He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "You know, before Ben and I started the Vice Kings, we were just a bunch of kids, didn't know what we were getting into. We may have gone to school and developed some street smarts along the way, but still, Sunnyvale…we barely got out of there last time."

"Denzel said what happened in Shivington reminded him of his fight with that asshole Victor."

"He almost got that son of a bitch too. Shit! One day perhaps. For now, we have to stay consistent if Saints Row is to survive." He said feeling down. "I can't take another hit, Renee. I can't let the Carnales keeping handing our asses over. What's it gonna take to beat them?"

"Listen to me, Jules. You shouldn't beat yourself up. Look where you are; people on Mission Beach look to y'all for protection in this city. You got good guys on your side…and Johnny Gat."

"Ha, yeah he's a wild card; good to have in a fight too. He gets shit done at such a young age."

"You should've seen him on those ribs. Mothafuckas were on Johnny for a piece." She chuckled. "Jules, this isn't my place to say, but maybe you should go visit her."

"I can't." He said plainly.

"Why not; aren't you two still dating?"

"Wish it were that simple. I love her and all, but…"

Renee interjected, "But you love the Row more?"

"We may have gone our separate ways, but Ben and I represent the past, present, and future of Stilwater. We've set out to meet that goal a long time ago, and by god if it kills me, I'm gonna make damn sure 3rd Street is remembered as the greatest gang this city's ever known. Father McKinley used to own this Church, taught me how to be a man in a city full of beasts. I'll never forget what that motherfucker Alejandro did to him."

"I'm sure he'd be proud of the man you become. Denzel is, A.J., everybody. You kept this gang together even when the Carnales were splitting y'all apart. What I will say about Angela is wait. She's a party animal, but also a patient one. I'll be sure to pass it along next time I see her."

"Thank you, Renee." He smiled. "D is goddamn lucky to have a woman with a heart as big as yours."

"Don't mention it, hon." She smiled.

He walked out of the Church with his purpose fully set on protecting the Row like he has done in the past. He, Dex, and a few other Saints rolled out and did their rounds as they looked for new ways to earn some money. For the past eight months, Alejandro had been budding heads with other members of congress to raise taxes and put some extra money in his pocket. He steered clear from his gang affiliation out of self-promotion, and to gain positive notoriety amongst his political colleagues. Of course, like any city with tax problems, middle class citizens rebelled against his new policy to raise as the Carnales were pretty much earning royal wages from their drug shipments and gun runs.

Not to mention the earful phone call he was getting from William Sharp about raising income taxes and interest on the cars they ship overseas. As far as Alejandro was concerned on that front, Sharp was just another two bit, Wall Street Snake with empty pockets to fill. For the entirety of his afternoon in his air conditioned office, he was handling angry phone calls in a calming matter, surprisingly being in a legit, yet crooked job had its perks; not giving a shit about what the middle man thought was one of them. Like the Saints getting their foot in the door for Stilwater's future, he too was jumping over hurdles to keep the stability of his status in check. It used to be about his family and his city, but since the changes his relationship with Hector especially was crippled, all because of a question in who was in charge.

As he sat back looking at the view with Rafajo liquor in a shot glass, it suddenly brought him back to the bloody days of La Violencia in Colombia. Back then, all that was there to drink was either their own urine or an old case of Canelazo. He remembered his comrades fighting over the last drop on frosty evenings. It taught him to remain vigilant, wait it out. "War can't last forever." He said thinking back to his bunker days.

"I have a family to get home to." For a man entering his twilight years, no matter how many types of wine he tasted or cigars he smoked, the only thing he was able to taste was the blood of his past. It scared him half to death, and it would've killed him on the spot if he didn't catch his secretary telling him he had a guest. He hadn't spoken to his old comrade in war since he went for a more legitimate path.

"Alejandro!" Padilla said bursting through the door, laughing with joy. "Como estas, viejo amigo (How are you, old friend?)?"

"Como estas, hermano (How are you, brother?)?" Alejandro asked embracing him.

"Woo, su secretario, Alejandro. Las jarras rebote me hizo llorar cuando vi."

(Woo, your secretary, Alejandro. Those bouncing jugs made me cry when I saw them.)

"Uno de los mejores beneficios ser Alcalde, es que les cuando quiero. No le importa!" He said as they both laughed.

(One of the best perks being Mayor, is I could squeeze them whenever I like. She doesn't mind!)

He's had arguments in his office by his campaign team, policies being signed, but nothing was more relaxing than to pour a drink for his old friend as they both stood in awe of the view the city had to offer. For a brief few minutes talking about how they made it out of the trenches and onto profitable pastures, the problems both of them were having suddenly went away. Padilla steered the moment back to how the Carnales, Alejandro's brothers as he sternly put it, were becoming bullet fodder for a bunch of purple rats. Padilla always had an angle that always put both him and Manuel's lives on the line. This time, it was a question of leadership.

"You know Los Carnales way better than I do. I could instruct men to become better soldiers, but gang affiliates are a different kind of evil. Even with Hector's watch over them, they are more prone on following him to the gates of El Diablo than listening to me."

"You are a high valued buyer amongst us, Enrique; nothing more." Alejandro said. "How my elder son runs things with my old gang is up to him now."

"I came to you as a prominent shipment buyer so I could transport your guns for overseas profit. And for the most part, we have an arsenal no street _pendejo_ will stand before."

"Then what is the problem?"

"If we are speaking like honest men, my problem lies with you." Padilla replied. "I've already lost one war comrade to being the Colombians' puppet, making business calls and making frequent trips to see them. He has lost the killer instinct we all had during La Violencia."

"It is Manuel's influence in business negotiation that the Colombians back the Carnales." Alejandro stressed to him.

"And how long will they help us long after you and I are gone? Angelo doesn't have the head for this business, and Hector defies my advice at every turn." Padilla said as he got up to stretch his legs. "Do you remember when Manuel lost Alvarez?"

"Martino Alvarez: the youngest to ever get into the Ejército de Liberación Nacional (National Liberation Army)."

"The man didn't have a future to go back to in Argentina, but he was able to make the best out of a bad situation." He said taking a swig of beer. "Guess that's why he moved up the ranks so fast. He saved Manuel's life when he was infiltrating a Japanese Commune in Central Luzon. It was a quiet night, only a skeleton crew was present while the other Japs moved down south to answer some distress call. Manuel wanted to give up back then too. They tortured him for hours, but Martino knew to keep his cool and focus on the mission."

"Until he broke his left ankle carrying Manuel away from that sewage tank, right; the one they used for interrogation? The blast was instant." He snapped his fingers. "Like that."

"You don't seem too broken up about it." Padilla said, getting ticked off.

"I don't let that history define me. I can only see it as layers of dirt I peeled off myself when I came to America with my two sons. Perhaps you should move on too."

"How can I? I've got no origins, no accomplishments to be proud of. The only thing I have is my history as a soldier, and the mistake you partook in."

"Oh, Jesús, no se puede que sobre mí!" Alejandro shouted from his desk.

(Oh, Jesus Christ, you can't pin that on me!)

In the old days, it was always a competition between Padilla and Lopez. Padilla was usually the sore loser who never looked at the big picture. In some ways, it made him immature, arrogant; even when he was a commanding officer he still couldn't help but rub it in his comrades' faces. When they went their separate ways from Colombia, Alejandro made it his personal mission to leave the horrors of war behind where his wife died, and settle a new life in business circles while taking care of Hector and Angelo. Enrique from what he saw didn't grow up that much; grew a beard that was a third of the length of Fidel Castro's mane, but that was it. The mistake he spoke of stemmed from a night of retreat during the late '60s.

They went to a bar in Bogotá where they were pretty much the kings of the drink that night. Bartenders, the spicy Colombian women, the dance floor playing loud party music; life was made for them in that one night. As they were partying, they met a bar hopper with a wild side neither of them were able to comprehend. She was as pure Colombian as they came, buying drinks for everyone and showing the two war heroes a good time. As Padilla was telling the story, he remembered going first in a secret room at the back of the bar because Alejandro was already drunk off his ass and passed out.

He kept the details of that night as puzzling as he could so Alejandro could connect the dots on what happened afterwards. All Padilla knew was that the "mistake" was at Stilwater General in a coma. Thinking back, it brought him to the reason why he banned Hector out of the Mayor's office in the first place. The shipment that came in Stoughton back in '88 had human cargo inside with a rare disease called Fiebre Cobra (Cobra Fever). It had a slow moving venom coursing through everyone's system on that freighter.

Padilla claimed some of his old enemies from La Violencia were looking for payback for something he did. When the Saints trashed it, all but four survived, Maria Avalos being one of them. She was carrying a child at the time. She wasn't much to look at when the fever spread, but he gave her some generic brand medics to slow the venom down even more until they reached Stoughton. Hector argued against human cargo coming to Stilwater's shores, saying that was not how they did business.

He didn't want to hear it so he banned Hector from further embarrassment. It was two days before he was declared Mayor. Before Padilla left in disgust, he said to him, "I may not have evolved like you have, but I know you_ hermano. _You didn't go "legit" because you wanted to make the best out of a bad situation. You did it to save your own _culo. _Whoever these Saints are, they may be tough, but they don't quit. If Maria were awake, she'd be disgusted over what you did. It's a good thing my second daughter will never have to see you at all. Enjoy your time as Mayor."

And with that, Alejandro was left sitting back in his chair, sweating over the "mistake" yarned by his oldest friend. For the next four weeks, Saint and Carnale alike were out recruiting and taking over small businesses such as Rim Jobs and Forgive and Forget. A.J. took a particular interest in the business because when it came to swapping body heat with fine, vanilla females, a fair few had pissed off pimps chasing him out of their house with shotguns. At Forgive and Forget, confessions were paramount to dropped lawsuits for a fee of $100. The Saints connected with their network while they went out and kept looking for other stores to expand the Row.

Hector and Manuel kept the Colombians happy when their shipments slowly started coming back to U.S. waters. Drugs and guns were moving at a flowing pace again. He owed Padilla one thing Manuel said, his training regiments on the gang members kept pressure on the Saints to the point of them separating to different parts of the city, never fully intersecting like they did in the past. That was fine by Julius; lesser casualties to be caught in the unneeded crossfire. With the Vice Kings slowly coming up in Sunnyvale and the Westside Rollerz placing their attention on the Carnales, all Julius worried about was expanding their crew as many ways as they could. Denzel and Armando had sit downs with over six Friendly Fire owners about protection and supplying their newest hardware to the Saints.

It took them a month to be convinced, but after dealing with an illegal race the Rollerz set up in Athos Bay, the gun owners knew who to trust. Six gun stores plus another four wasn't so bad when Johnny was handling the other side of negotiations. By October of 1992, the Saints were set on gun supply. The fact that three, going on four gangs were all over the city giving each other a hard time was actually a learning experience for Julius. Times were changing he thought; no more one gang trying to take out another.

Ulterior motives and contingency plans were in place for each gang. It kept them alive for the most part when everyday might be the last time someone walks out their front door. Armando slept soundly in his home while his brother Carlos was sleeping over at a friend's house. He was feeling it again. The nightmare of him drowning in Bayamon and sinking into the dark depths of the sea, it was suddenly becoming clear. He had the same dream two to three times each year since it first struck his mind.

It had him seeing who the person was behind the eye just seconds before he woke up in a cold sweat. This time it was a red eye, slanted yet livelier than before, and just before he woke up he saw a split second image of an animal with a killer look on its face. Armando's eyes lit up as he inhaled and exhaled looking around his bedroom. He got out of bed in his boxers to go get some tap water from the sink. The phone rang of all times at 4:09 in the morning.

He picked it up in a grouchy mood and grumbled, "Someone better be dying. Maldito (Damn)…"

"Eh sobrino (nephew), it's me." He whispered in fear.

"Tío, tío what's going on?"

"I was going in early to open up the donut shop when some dark animal jumped on my car. Not really doing so well."

"Aye dios mio, are you alright?" Armando asked.

"Yeah, yeah I'm cool. It just came out of nowhere, man. Ah, demasiado viejo para esta mierda." (Ah, getting too old for this shit.)

"I'll pick you up and take you to the hospital." Armando said before getting interrupted.

"What hospital? Look, just pick me up and we'll go after the wolf together."

"Did you just say "wolf"?" He asked suspiciously.

"I managed to get a good look at it before it ran off. It was black and had piercing red eyes. It was weird; wolves don't have red eyes."

"It might be the same one that attacked me in Shivington. Stay put. Are you armed?"

"I got me a Python in the glove compartment. With ghetto white boys racing all over the streets, it pays to be prepared. Be careful, entiende (understand)?"

Armando threw on his colors and drove off with a subtle fear flying around in his chest about his uncle's well-being. Apollo's Donut Shop was on the edge of slipping away from the Saints when the Rollerz started looking into new territory. Their leader, Joseph Price had a sweet tooth for Belly Jellies. By the time he got to the neighborhood, his uncle's car was crashed in a land post three blocks before Apollo's. He did some recon around the area to see if anyone tailed him. No blue or red flags in sight he said. Ferdinand was sitting on a park bench next to a payphone holding his head with his right hand tightly. He then parked next to the crashed car and got out.

"You okay to walk, tío?" He asked taking a look at him.

"Yeah, nothing's broken." He said hoisting himself up from the bench. "Just my head's hurting like a _puta. _Were you followed?"

"I double checked to make sure. We got nothing to worry about. I'm gonna take you to the hospital anyway."

"Did you not hear me? I said we're going after that wolf." He said shoving Armando out of the way and walked towards his car. "If I had to guess, the wolf's heading to Mount Claflin."

"Venga, tío (Come on, uncle), I'll go look first thing in the morning. You might have a concussion." He stressed.

"When an animal jumps between a man and his car that calls for some payback, don't you? If you won't help me, I'll do it myself."

Armando shook his head in shame on what he was about to do of all things. Then again, Stilwater always had its share of the supernatural and unexplained he thought. That was one of the reasons why he steered clear from Old Stilwater every chance he got. He ran over before Ferdinand collapsed and helped him over to his car before they went to Mount Claflin. Never in the past 40 years the city's history books ever mentioned having wolves roaming around the mountainside.

There was a time when Wardill Airplanes would venture towards Claflin and never come back, while other instances had bad traffic on the walking trails and a mask with bones surrounding it. He and his uncle were about to walk into something they may or may not walk out of. Other stories suggested camping trips to go darker than the night itself; luckily they didn't have that problem when he, Ferdinand, and Carlos would have their own camping trips there. As they were heading into Pleasant View, the roads were rocky and made Armando's purple Sedan do small jumps on the dirt road. After that, it wasn't far to the mountain pass.

They drove past a waterfall showing one of many sides to the mountain's qualities. All this time Armando kept going over in his head how to convince his own uncle to turn back and sleep off his encounter with the wolf, but for Ferdinand, once you wreck his car, there would be no justice until he dishes it out himself. He got out his Python and loaded up for wolf hunting. When they pulled up towards the end of the mountain road, the forest area was just west of where they were. Armando got out and grabbed his AK-47, putting a silencer on it before they delved further into the forest. "You ready for this, Armando?" His uncle asked him with a determined look on his face with a side of disorientation.

He stood behind him as they walked. Mount Claflin always did have a life of its own, not just on the outside, but a breathing organism Ferdinand told him and Carlos at one point. The northern forest area was where they had their campsites and roasting platinols (fried bananas) overlooking the city landscape. Neither took the time to embrace nature's freeing habitat. Armando moved faster up the hill as if he knew exactly where the wolf was hiding.

"You see anything up there?" Ferdinand whispered up to him.

"Something's not…empty on this part of the mountain. I can't really explain it. Keep close." He replied aiming his rifle moving forward.

The steps he took towards the northern direction were gradually getting hot by the minute. He remembered having that same feeling in Shivington, back on West 18th Street looking for the cause of some grenade that blinded the battlefield of purple versus red. They were definitely on the right track he thought. The thick, grassy ground and wind rustling through the trees' leaves told him a presence was around them. He then signaled his uncle to stop moving, saying "The wolf's here. He's probably watching us."

"I'm not waiting anymore, sobrino. We either get this done, or I do. And I'm not leaving until…" He said before the conversation went silent.

"Tío …?" He said feeling nervous all of a sudden, turning around and not seeing him.

His instincts went from heated to hearing his heart race. He loaded his rifle and breathed short breaths as he aimed all around the forest. And in the blink of an eye, he saw a dark figure. It grabbed his rifle as it fired three shots in the air before flipping him over and disappearing soon after. He got back up and shouted, "Tío!" before running deeper into the forest. The breathing organism turned into a maze of trees and wind hissing like someone was right next to him.

Next thing he knew his left arm got sliced by a knife of some sort; disappeared again. He kept wondering what was going on as his heart kept beating louder. Looking frantically around the tree maze, he moved cautiously without making a sound. That was when his ears picked up a howling cry ever so faint to the west of where he was. His first thought was his uncle may not have gotten far, but when he took another step, one side of his face felt like it was on fire.

And that's when he realized what happened in that broken down house where the wolf cornered him; the scratch mark she left. The more he moved, the hotter his face felt. He found himself on open grassland with trees surrounding him this time instead of forming a maze. He took another chance and whispered, "Tío." Suddenly, he turned around as the night shifted towards any light in his direction.

He caught a brief glimpse of the dark figure as it moved swiftly behind him. The leaves rustled up top once again, revealing a pale moon shining some faded light on the grassland. A knife pressed up against his throat and when the moonlight revealed the person holding it, she didn't flinch. Surprisingly enough neither did he.

"You're pretty fast there, lady. You got me." He said, breathing hard and standing still. "There was another guy with me, my uncle. Guess you know where he's at."

She kept her knife firmly fixed on his throat as she moved up to him slowly. From the looks of things, she had a bandana over her mouth. He couldn't get a look at it, but the way he saw it she was either one of two things: Los Carnales, or some vigilante role she got from a comic book. She spoke into his ear, "Do you remember what I told you? If you ever crossed my path again…I would have your life."

"You can try, but first I have a question."

"Ask it." She said plainly.

"Are you a Carnale?" He asked before pulling out his NR4.

She twisted his shooting arm and put him a headlock. They went towards the growing roars in the forest; suddenly Armando pulled out a pocket knife and jammed it into her thigh, running like hell in the same direction without thinking. One wolf was bad enough staring down at him, but six other wolves with unique yet intimidating features was something else. "Querida madre (Dear mama)," he said as each wolf surrounding him wanted a piece. At first, the way they inspected their prey looked like they were buying time for the wolf lady to show up.

As he stood in the middle, he felt naked without his knife and gun, looking for a quick exit that didn't end with him as a buffet for the wild. He readied himself and counted to three before taking a literal leap of faith over a wolf with brown fur and blue swirls on its face. Running further west, he kept calling out his uncle's name before tripping down a small hill into a dark abyss-like corner of the mountain. Landing on his side with a tree branch breaking his fall was a really good start to his day he thought. Next thing he knew, he rolled out of the way as his knife hit the dirt just two inches away from his right hand.

"Is that all gang members do when the odds are unpredictable?" She asked from the shadows. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Je n'aime pas des laches (I do not like cowards)."

"Your accent, argh…" He said getting up. "I recognize it. You're Arianna, aren't you?"

"I am a multitude of many things, Saint. You, on the other hand are unsure of what your purpose is."

"You're wrong. I've got my brothers in purple. You got to believe me; we're not the shitheads you think we are. The Carnales have blood on their hands too."

"Do you know how many Carnales men travel to this side of Stilwater? My husband does what he can to keep their empire a thriving business, but the past few years that business has been on a rollercoaster. Up and down, up and down. Shivington was not our place to spill copious measures of blood. The fault lies with your leader, thus it shall with you."

"Myths tend to happen around this time. People don't even camp up here anymore. It's a shame really."

"I sense remorse in your voice." She said.

"The Saints have been on rollercoasters too. People know who we are, but to my leader and oldest friend that's not enough. What happened in Shivington was uncalled for. Just let me go and I'll convince him to take it easy for a while. But I want my uncle."

"He is safe. You really care for this man, do you?" She spoke sympathetically.

"He's the only family I got, apart from my younger brother who's the one thing I don't want in this life, this gang life. You've made your point, Arianna. You wanna kill me that's your choice, but you let my uncle go. Just let him go…"

The six wolves including the one with red eyes emerged from the shadows of the abyss corner. A sudden feel of exhaustion hit Armando like a dodge ball, leaving him to take a knee before the wolves and await whatever end had for him on the other side. He glared at the ground, breathing softly until his eyes met the one person who revealed herself after the chase. She lowered her bandana and said, "1,267. That's the number of Carnales that betrayed my husband. He paid them no mind after the fact.

Four tried to slit his throat while he was sleeping. It was our third date. Although your intrusion is within reason, what happens next isn't up to me. If you wake up tomorrow, seek me out. I'll need your help." The red eyed wolf charged towards him and pounced on his chest without any foresight on what was going to happen next. Armando had a religious background on his mother's side back in Puerto Rico.

When he became a Saint and his own man in Stilwater, faith had an odd sense of humor. It gave him his bad days as well as good days with a few obstacles thrown together to keep him off track. If he knew he was going to be walking into Mount Claflin without any backup from his homies, he would have been kicking himself for not bringing A.J. along. Arianna did raise a point though; he didn't know what his purpose was. He saw the Saints as a recreational hang out gig, and that the old war stories Julius and Benjamin used to tell were left buried in Sunnyvale.

But a history with the Carnales was designed to be repeated again and again, and in his own way he was fine with that. After High School, he didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. Most of the people he went to school with weren't around anymore. He was going through the common motions of life until two ex-Vice Kings came a knocking. Now that life was a series of hit and runs alongside with some of the most unique and determined gang members Saints Row has ever known. Armando went from being wolf bait to being back in his car.

His eyelids ever heavy lifted themselves up until his sight was clear on the dirt road he parked on. Taking a minute, he composed himself and noticed his skin was still intact all things considered, but when he looked to his right his uncle was nowhere to be found. When he turned left he nearly shat himself when he saw an arm dangling in front of him. He got out quickly and immediately thanked god the wolves didn't get to him either.

"Thank you. You doing alright up there?" He asked feeling relieved.

Ferdinand grumbled back and forth until fell off the roof next to Armando. He opened his eyes and asked, "Sobrino, ah thank Christ you're in one piece. Did we catch the wolf yet?"

"Aye dio, you're killing me old man." He replied helping him up.

"Not as killer as my back. What the hell happened last night?"

"If I told you, would you back off this wolf thing?"

"First, I need coffee." He replied feeling pain on his lower back. "And some Advil…"

Armando felt sore all over too. At least whatever went on in the mountain didn't tear his head off he told his uncle. For the most part, Ferdinand's head went from having a concussion to feeling hung over from the night before. Strange enough, he was able to handle a hangover. Just as he started his car, his first thought since waking up was about forgetting to pick Carlos up from his sleepover. Ferdinand may have been prideful when it came to his car, his hair, his old cologne he kept in the back of his pants pocket in case the coffee girl showed up to work, but he was no stranger to thinking ahead.

He called Zach's mom and told her if for some reason neither he nor Armando got there in time to pick up Carlos, that she would take both kids to school. Looking on his watch, school happened sixteen minutes ago he told Armando. Before taking off, he felt a burning sensation in his stomach. It was subtle enough not to panic, but it became a recurring feeling since he woke up. Ferdinand took notice and asked, "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah," he said feeling unsure. "You know I'm dying for some Belly Jellies right about now."

"Really, I'm looking to snag some double dipped chocolate munchkins before your man Denzel eats them all. Two trays went missing last time."

"I think that was Penny the Prostitute. She's got a sweet tooth from here to Steelport." Armando chuckled as they drove back to the city.

28


	4. Chapter 4: Returning home

Returning Home

Shivington became a wake-up call for Benjamin King to move out of Saints Row. He became so occupied in trying to find a balance between gang banger and business man he forgot how easy the Carnales were able to move from one town to the next, taking back the neighborhoods the Saints took over. He also had personal reasons for dropping his purple flags; Julius. They've been best friends since the sandbox days, but life on the streets changed them, made them cold to each other. They went from being brothers to two leaders debating against one another.

One wanted to evolve the Row to profitability, to become not only known within street circles, but on a global scale too. Ben had big plans that stemmed from the inception of the Vice Kings in the 70's, but Julius wanted to stay local. He had no intention in being some corporate giant trying to bleed the middle man dry so he could stay a rich asshole. To him, Saints Row was the backbone of Stilwater, to protect the people from any other colored flag causing misery and death. Both were arrogant in their own right for not trying to find common ground with their goals. In the end, they respected each other enough to go their separate ways.

After what General Padilla, Victor, and the Lopez brothers did to Shivington, Ben took it upon himself to leave the more comfortable venues of Mission Beach and move back to his home in Sunnyvale. The remainder of the year 1989 was no picnic for the King family, especially for Angela. She couldn't bring herself to accept her two best men would leave what they created long ago. It took a couple months, but she was still able to see Julius on the down low when gangs weren't out for blood. Going to school and helping Angela set up fundraisers to help rebuild Shivington, he had a lot of time to reconcile with his family.

Time away from the Row had done some good Ben thought; a few of his old Sunnyvale homies had a reunion with him as they partied and told old war stories about their encounters with the Carnales. Then the year 1990 came along which changed his perception on what gang life was about ever again. The 80's were gone and a new age came rushing in with "gang bangers" starting at younger ages, and putting underground gangs into the actual ground faster than they could say "Charred Hard Burgers". Arrogance and delusions of grandeur somehow spread into Sunnyvale when Ben walked into the Dive, Dine, and Go Diner. It was a Thursday morning, just like any hot day in Stilwater.

The owner of the place was named Jelly James Iago; a nickname when he was obese as a kid during the late 60's. He loved food so much he got into the restaurant business and opened up a diner while losing weight simultaneously to lower his cholesterol. He knew Benjamin and Julius for over thirteen years. When the first Vice Kings won over Taina Ave. against some crooked cops arresting people of color, they celebrated their victory at the Diner. Ben hadn't been there for quite some time, and when he walked inside the place didn't change much. It wasn't as smoky as it used to be, but that was about it. He took a deep breath and walked up to the main counter to greet James.

"Yo, Jelly, guess whose back?" Ben laughed.

Jelly walked away from the kitchen where the fry cooks were. He cleaned his glasses and looked at Ben, "Holy hot diggity Christ! How you be, man?"

"It's all good, all good." He replied looking at the faded blue walls. "Damn, you ever thought about renovating this place?"

"When dollar bills fly outta my ass; fucking Mayor…" Jelly said feeling frustrated.

"I feel you. He's raising taxes again."

"Man, I thought you and Jules were going to put a bullet in his pie hole already; coffee?" He asked pouring Ben a cup and giving it to him.

"Trust me, I'm working on it."

"Don'cha have the uh, what do you guys call yourselves now; 3rd Row something?"

"Saints Row and I ain't rollin' with Julius anymore." He said taking another sip of coffee.

"Sorry 'bout that, brother; I saw a bright future for both of y'all." He replied having coffee in front of him. "So, what do you got planned next?"

Where to start Ben thought? From contemplating leaving the Saints to working towards his business degree, his mind was engulfed with goals for his future. However, four minutes wasn't anywhere near long enough to lay it on to his old friend. The Diner turned into a saloon when six guys wearing yellow shirts and headbands walked in acting all tough and thinking they owned the place. Everybody went quiet when the swinging chains and baseball bats were shown as a way of them rooting out the outsiders not welcomed to the Diner.

Normally, Jelly James would step in and scare them away from his place of business, but after twenty-two times he didn't have the energy to do it anymore. He resorted to doing the stink eye and a keeping a metallic bat of his own under the counter. Ten people ran out of the Diner in fear while a fair few senior citizens and a couple tire eyed prostitutes were ordered to stay. Ben whispered in his ear wanting to know who the kids in yellow were. His previous theory was right; the original Vice Kings of the 70's left behind a greater legacy than even Julius cared to admit.

A part of him wanted to tell them off and how they didn't know shit about gangbanging, but a lifetime ago he was in their shoes. Back then, he and Jules were as loud and as arrogant as the next generation was acting. With this, he wanted to use it to his own advantage by using an age old rule: Respect is earned, not given. He took his coffee and asked James where they usually sat. It was a corner table where they saw the big, rectangular walls.

Not only that, but it was where they could get good angles of fine dimes jogging past the Diner. As soon as Ben walked over to the booth and sat down, a detector went off in the VK leader's head and got the others' attention to go see why an outsider was sitting in their spot. Crip walking, hitting the business end of a bat at the palm of the hand, putting on their angry faces like they were going to do something violent in their minds. All Ben did was sit back and not pay them any mind.

"Didn't you hear us walk in, outsider?" One Vice King asked. "You wanna eat in here, you gotta have our say."

"Damn straight." Another one spoke sporting a swinging chain.

A solid fifteen seconds passed before the "boyz in the hood" were getting antsy. One of them came forward and said, "Yo, you deaf? 'Cause I coulda swore I didn't stutter. That booth you sittin' in belongs to the legendary Vice Kings gang. This was their spot way back in the day."

"We inherited that spot after they smoked many red flags away from Sunnyvale. They're fucking heroes."

"There are other booths, homies." Ben said putting down his coffee in the center of the table. "You hungry for pussy you can't have, try Tee 'N' Ay."

One VK got fed up and hit the coffee cup against the window. Ben kept his cool while the others couldn't take it anymore. James stepped in and told them off if they weren't going to order anything that they were going to have to leave. Words exchanged in the public of sensitive eared elderly and became vulgar to the point of the prostitutes getting up and leave. One VK said, "Bitch, where you going? Aw, fuck you too."

Ben looked at the table sitting upright while one VK was ordered by one of the loudest mouths imaginable to lock up the doors, and knock out James if he tried anything. That was when the loud mouth stepped forward from the group wearing faded yellow and black clothes with an uptown fade hairdo. Ben looked into his eyes and saw one thing, but before he was able to speak he was cut off.

"C'mon Warren, you gonna let this asshole disrespect us?" One of them asked.

"What'chu think, Miles?" He replied before turning his attention to Ben. "Do you know who I am, homie? I can tell you what I ain't: a body in the Shivington aftermath a few months back. Some dumbass from Saints Row couldn't keep his mouth shut and three of my closest homies ended up being shot to pieces."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, son." Ben said. "But all I see is a scared, confused little boy who just hit my coffee against the window."

"Scared of what, you; I'm supposed to be scared of you? If you and I were on the street, your ass would be grass after me and my boys are done wit'chu."

He then stood up from the booth and for some reason the other VK's took a few steps back as he walked over to confront Warren man-to-man. Both stared down at each other; one with eagerness, the other with confidence. Ben shrugged and said, "I'm standing right here. Take your best shot." The tense confrontation came to an abrupt end when Warren started to chuckle all of a sudden and smirked back at Ben like he wasn't even worth wasting a punch on. It was no more than five steps before he turned back around and struck at Ben with a bat, but before Warren knew it, his head was pressed against the table with his swinging arm on the verge of being snapped in half by Ben's calloused hands.

Just as the other VK's stepped forward, Ben warned them if they valued their shooting arms and their so-called pride, they would unlock the doors and walk away. And without giving it a second thought, they simply ran out never to be seen again. Warren squirmed back and forth to break free. He had his right eye looking up at Ben and said, "Get your fucking hands off me, pussy. We took back these streets, not you!"

"Let me break it down for you, gangsta." Ben said hearing the faint crack of Warren's arm. "The Vice Kings didn't all disappear that day. Some still walk among us. You think you have what it takes to step up to the Carnales? To this day, they are the coldest motherfuckers who would blow your head off just for looking in their direction."

"Bitch, you better pray the founder of the VK's doesn't find your ass!" Warren demanded.

"You just did. I'm Benjamin Motherfucking King." He said before grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing him against another table.

"My boy is back…" James whispered to himself.

Adjusting his semi-formal business clothes, he walked over to where Warren looked up at him with fear in his expression. Ben gave him one last warning, "If you ever come 'round my friend's place of business, I'll make sure you and your baby gangstas _never_ come back to Sunnyvale again. You feel me, lil nigger?"

"You're fucking psycho, man. This ain't over!" Warren shouted before storming out of the diner.

Damn straight he thought; the life of a gangbanger was full of twists and turns that could either lead to the joint or six feet under. Ben saw enough homies go for the latter. He wanted to make a difference this time. He lifted the table he threw Warren on, but one of the fry cooks came running with a broom. He took his meal to go before leaving the Diner with his mind set on bringing the real Vice Kings back to life.

Though the population in both Sunnyvale and Shivington were low, and with the rumors of an underground gang cleaning up the projects since the fundraisers by him and Angela, he didn't have to look very hard for recruits. If there was one thing the dark side of Stilwater never forgotten was the history. Apparently so since coming home there were potential VK's "running" the streets already. There were a lot of things he needed to catch up on. He took a ride around the neighborhoods until he reached Shivington's open road to the old strongholds.

Driving in, a feeling of emptiness hit him harder than he'd liked. With raising money to fix the damage the Carnales and Saints have done, along with a small Mayoral contribution from Lopez himself, Shivington still looked like a ghost town. Old homes were being rebuilt, memorial services being held by loved ones; bodies were carried out of the wreckage but remained etched in the minds of those who survived it. This went especially for Old Lady Martha. Single moms and struggling young men referred to her as the pillar of the impoverished community; a spiritual mother to the struggle.

She was once an avid speaker to Father McKinley's church before it was Saints Row. When Sunnyvale got attacked in the 70's, she returned to Calladera Drive to live out the rest of her days still giving young people advice and helping them survive. Ben pulled up to her house where she sat out front reading to little kids. Seeing her again made that emptiness in his heart not so empty. She always had a smile on her face and a pitcher of lime green tea on hand. He took a walk over to her just finishing up her story.

"What happens to the bee when he gets back to his hive?" One kid anxiously asked Martha.

"That'll have to wait next time, sugar. Okay, gather 'round for some delicious…"

Ben finished her sentence, "Lime Green Tea; sweetest thing of the projects."

Her eyes glowed when she saw him for the first time in years. After she gave the kids her tea, she introduced them to another big kid she was quite fond of. They were local and ran back to play with their friends while Ben and Martha took a walk around the progress Shivington had made so far. Safe to say, in her mind she wasn't at all happy with the lack of progress, but she kept everyone else's spirits high.

"My, my, look at you. Never thought I'd see the day Benjamin King would blossom into a fine young man."

"Why thank you, Martha. You don't look bad yourself." He complimented her.

"You must see me as a piece of pumpernickel bread that needs to be buttered heavily." She said as they both chuckled. "I know what I look like, sweetheart. I'm an old soul with a fractured heart on what Los Carnales did to our home. If I had the strength of a thirty year old…"

"You fight with words, not conflict. That's more than enough. People need that. My sister needed it."

"I remember. I've never seen how a single night can destroy such a serene flower. She was broken in every sense of the word, just like many boys and girls in these parts. I can only do so much when the law enforcement does so little. I've heard the gossip of you leaving Saints Row and returning home. May I ask what drove you away from Julius?"

"He and I couldn't see eye-to-eye on how to lead a street gang."

"Is that the only reason?" She asked as he hesitated before speaking. "You just mentioned her a second ago."

"Angie is still with him. He makes her happy for the most part, treats her right. I left the Saints because… I realized a man on the street is nothing without his homies. That's who the Vice Kings were back then; friends hanging out and protecting each other when danger came walking down our streets."

"Do you remember the story I told you and Angela when I came to visit after your mother passed away?"

"How could I forget? Our folks lived like pariahs during Alejandro Lopez's prime. My pop kissed her hand repeatedly when she survived Angie's birth. The day she was on her feet, she wanted to buy ice cream for everyone." He said before pausing for a second. "I came back to Sunnyvale for her, Martha. I got a vision for the Vice Kings, and ain't no way in hell the Carnales are gonna take it back this time. We drove 'em away once, we'll do it again."

"This I have no doubt, Benny. You are finally looking to the future with set purpose. How and when you make that difference, you have my blessing. Stilwater will be indebted to you."

"I will do right this time, Martha; for Sunnyvale, everyone." Ben said feeling determined.

The last time he saw Martha giving him a pep talk was over god knows how long in his mind. She was pretty much looking her age back when he and Julius were kids; Father McKinley and the Shivington community loved her very much. Never once was she jaded by the bullets of gang war flaring out in the streets over the years. Seeing her again brought some good memories back and how he never forgot how she nursed Angela back to health after the last Sunnyvale war. He bid her goodbye before driving off to go see how his sister was doing.

They haven't been on speaking terms since Julius let her go be with her family, to be a Vice King alongside her brother. However, over time she grew to understand the weight of the decisions a gang leader has to make for the good of their future. She took it one day at a time until she found a way to reconnect with him during the fundraisers she threw. You know what they say about long distance relationships, only this time they were a few neighborhoods apart instead a few states away. Like anything they did in life, they managed to make it work with a few struggles here and there.

She took a job as a Party Planner in Prawn Court. Many wild cats and money walkers ventured there for a good time, whether it was at Tee 'N' Ay or somewhere else. For someone who went from taking boxing classes, to being in a gang, ending up as a Party Planner for many special occasions in Stilwater, she grew to be a versatile young lady. Just like Ben, she always went after the next big challenge. He went inside Pralines and Co. to talk to Angela when he saw a tall, dark, strapping young man with a voice deep that could be perceived by anyone who heard it. From what Ben was hearing, it sounded more like flirting on his side as Angela was keeping a professional front about it. He kept himself hidden and listened in.

"Come on, miss. You really gonna resist a brother like me? I can show you a good time."

"So can Stilwater." She said. "Look, you seem like a cool guy and all, but I'm already in a serious relationship."

"Alright, I'm not trippin'. Just tell me who it is." He joked as she gave him a smirk doing paperwork at the same time. "Ha, you really gonna make me find out the hard way, huh? You brave girl, you brave."

"You don't let up, do you?" She asked.

"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic. When I see a beautiful woman, my heart does jumping jacks."

She took each of his compliments in stride while trying to set up his order for a special anniversary dinner with his grandparents. Ben casually walked towards the front desk in the lobby, but there was no fooling Angela. Never fails she thought from the past few boyfriends she had. First, her dad playing stakeout on her first dates, then when Julius came into the picture, Ben took the reins of "watchful protector".

In her own way, she was happy to see him more often in Sunnyvale and not rolling with the Saints anymore. The guy turned around and had an observing expression on his face that he knew Ben from somewhere. He just couldn't place his finger on it. "I see you've been playing footsies with the clients." Ben jokingly told her, followed by her acknowledging that wasn't the case. The guy took a step back and made the assumption they were the serious relationship she was talking about, but as it turned out by the time Ben said his last name, the guy's previous theory was right.

He was both psyched and humbled at the same time to be standing in the presence of the Vice King founder himself. The guy immediately introduced himself; Anthony Green, a.k.a. Big Tony as his friends used to call him. They talked for a bit about how they were raised deep in Sunnyvale's gang territory. That was when Angela re-introduced herself to Tony as Ben's sister, and that she was in the Vice Kings too. Ben brought up the fact that was the reason he came to visit her in the first place. Tony asked him, "Hey, if you got a minute, I was wondering if I could holler at you 'bout something."

With half his goals met and his journey on finding a balance between legit businessman and gang leader, he had nothing but time to speak to potential Vice King members. When Tony left the building, Ben touched base with her.

"It looks like a lot of business is coming in." Ben told her.

"Don't laugh." She replied looking through her books. "I'm backlogged on these party dates and I'm the only one here. Makes you wonder if teamwork is a foreign word on this side of town."

"Anthony seems cool."

"Bro, I know you joke a lot, but you also take things too seriously. Jules and I are still together. I made it work with you splitting up from the Saints, didn't I?"

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm a friendly guy. Julius is still breathing and that other guy is still walking. Doesn't that show I have an open mind?"

"Well, if that block party in East Stilwater is anything to go by…"

"I trust you. Ok? And yes…I'm here to stay this time. I got my Business Degree, my family to look out for, but most of all, I'm here to tell you if you want in the VK's, you are. But on one condition."

"What's that?" She asked.

"Let me teach you how to shoot." He said as they both chuckled. "I knew Jules was a lousy shot, but goddamn!"

"I'm not _that _bad." She said. "I've gotten about twelve headshots since I was with the Saints."

"Mm-hmm…"

"Hell yeah, but in all honesty, I'm glad you're back big brother. Family means a lot to me."

Before he left, he gave her a big hug and told her how things were going to be different this time around. Although he didn't tell her, the agency she was working for was losing business every year. In time, he wanted to do something about that. He saw Tony and asked if he wanted to take a ride with him. Tony got in his car and took a drive around the city as he addressed a problem he had been dealing with since he left the West 18th Cobras of Shivington.

Ever since the fallout of the Carnales attempt to retake the ghetto, the Cobras were branching out, looking for other ways to earn until the neighborhood was rebuilt and assured no red flag was going to touch it again. They used to deal in Real Estate if you could believe it he told Ben; lime and mortar made outhouses just waiting to make a buck on the market. Their leader, Byron was the brains of the operation whereas Tony was considered the brawns of the gang when they were coming up together. However, Byron's dick was leading him in the other direction.

"Don't get me wrong. Byron's a good dude and all, but his judgment is off." Tony said.

"A little r & r don't hurt anybody, man. That is unless pussy's interfering with the business."

"It's not interfering how we do things, Ben. It _is_ the business. Human trafficking was Byron's polite way of putting it. I don't know what happened. It started out selling run-of-the-mill prostitutes for some quick and easy cash. It was a good gig for a while, seeing 'round the block felines gettin' their freak on, then it just got worse."

"Just spit it out, Ant. If I'm going to help you, I need to know all the details." Ben insisted while driving.

It came down to one simple problem: desperation for money. Byron and the Cobras were doing the math on how much money they would make shipping prostitutes to other cities. Used pussy equaled a drop in value whereas younger girls had a chance of costing more. The cargo had ranged from 12-16 years of age, handing specific girls according to the buyer's standards. Tony's words didn't stop what they were doing, and so he put the literal boot to his face, begging him to stop selling young girls to twisted clients.

That's how they get you he told them. You sell them half a dozen 13 year olds to a sixty year old crime lord from Brooklyn, next thing you know, the police will get wind of the operation and will do everything in their power to shut it down. Byron wasn't hearing it. A part of him wanted nothing more than to take all the firepower he can muster and lay waste to Saints Row, but the one thing he cared about more was money.

He took a nasty shrapnel scar to his right thigh during the Shivington attack, and was angry ever since. Tony dropped his flags and moved down to Prawn Court to be closer to his grandparents. To this day, he still kept tabs on Byron to see what he was up to. That was the part he needed Ben's help on. Like he said, Byron was a good guy once, and he just wasn't ready to give up on him just yet.

The thought of pre-teen girls lingered in his mind, pissed him off to a point until Tony brought up the fact he was searching for the original VK members to knock some sense into him. As fate would always have a wicked sense of humor in Stilwater, it brought both him and Benjamin together to perform their first act as VK's on the rise.

"You're telling me a man of your size couldn't put a stop to Byron's money scheme?"

"Friendship can boggle a man's mind. I didn't know it then, but I'm sure as hell not gonna let any more young girls get taken. That shit ends today." Tony promised him.

"Where's the next pick up?"

"Spelunkers: a store near the Factories District. From there, it has a set of stairs that goes underground towards a place way more ghetto than the projects. The trade-off is tonight at sundown."

"Then we better pack heavy and smoke 'em quick so this doesn't happen again."

If only were that easy Tony said. The Cobras always had their bullets dipped in snake venom, giving their targets an exquisite amount of pain before dying. After they iced someone they slither away without leaving a bullet trail. If they were going to finish the Cobras once and for all, they were going to need soldiers to tip the scales in their favor. The last person that lingered in Ben's mind would be Angela considering she was afraid of snakes, but further away from his mind was the annoying kid he dealt with at Jelly's Diner earlier that day.

As "luck" struck once again, Tony brought up the Vice Kings roaming the Sunnyvale streets nowadays. He convinced Ben they needed a real challenge taking out someone that had been in the game for long enough with capabilities above simple gangbanging and acting hard to others. Warren and Ben weren't really on speaking terms last time he checked, but he had another idea.

"I'm listening." Tony said.

"We put the word out however we can. If Warren and his crew are still thugging after this morning, they'll want a piece of the action anyway."

"If they decide to join up, how do you know they won't put bullets in our backs and take the credit themselves?"

"'Cause I believe any man or woman can overcome the impossible. You and I are still standing after the Carnales hit Shivington. Way I see it, anything is possible."

His first step in bringing the old crew back together was never as clear as it was now. Human Trafficking was usually the Lopez M.O., but this was different. The Cobras were desperate and had to resort to kidnapping to make a quick buck. Then again, Ben partially blamed Alejandro for shutting down the brick and mortar made buildings because they weren't generating any revenue into the city's melting pot. As the day went on, the city just kept getting more and more unpredictable. Multiple colored flags were going at each other's throats: blue on red, red on purple, purple on blue, leaving massive bruises to any innocent civilians in the crossfire.

The more the media kept pressuring Alejandro to contain the gang violence he kept singing the same old "survival of the fittest" tune as a way of keeping things interesting. The Westside Rollerz were the least of his worries while most of his attention was on Saints Row, and how they kept getting back up after being knocked down so many times. He respected them for their persistence, if not for their constant need for bloodshed. It became for eye opener for Ben on how much Stilwater has changed. The seventies and early eighties were simpler back then; stressful, but simple.

Ben and Jules knew who the assholes were and how to deal with them. Now, the city has become shades of purple, red, and blue. The more he thought about the changes, the more it drove him to building the Vice Kings, to be the paragon the Saints were trying to be for the people. After everything that has happened, his father still had a job as a suit tailor in Nob Hill. Eric as an old soldier preferred to stay out of the gang war happening on the streets, but he never forgot the liberating feel of protecting his home alongside his family.

He thanked god everyday both his son and daughter were still above ground. Although, he almost took back his thanks when Ben startled him half to death when he was on his break, enjoying the quiet and munching on a pastrami sandwich.

"Jesus! Boy, there's a human function called knocking." Eric said.

"Sorry about that, pop. How've you been?" Ben said hugging him.

"Ah, I was doing better before you jumped out of fricking nowhere. Check this out." Eric said as he anxiously got out the Stilwater Gazette to show the status of Shivington's reconstruction. He then proudly said, "You did good son; you and your sister. This is _real_ progress. It almost looks like it wasn't touched by Padilla or those Lopez pendejos."

"It is progress. Some people don't see it that way though…" Ben said with concern.

"If you have any regrets leaving the Saints, leaving Julius…"

"I don't." He replied without thinking twice. "I know I've been looking out for myself with school and everything, and I think I got a solid plan for bringing the VK's back."

"Oh, that reminds me. I got a surprise for you." Eric said.

He brought Ben over to the back room to show him a special suit he'd been working on for a long time. When he first laid eyes on it, he was overwhelmed. "This is Granddad's three piece suit." He said feeling the newly formed fabric. It had all the trimmings of a sharp suit that resembled both authority and style, only instead of a grey shirt it was golden yellow with a pure black tie.

"It's a lovely piece of clothing, isn't it? This was the only suit my father ever owned when he was young. He took it to work, to church, wakes; it always brought him blind luck for some reason."

"I remember you telling me he looked like a lawyer at one point." Ben said.

"He was out of a job when the meat packing district used to be an old clothing factory for Ultor. He found himself walking into this lavish hotel up in Nob Hill."

"The Gingerbread Inn…" They both said together.

"Yeah, that's right. Your grandmother was a hostess there. She was ready to go home when my dad was so hungry he could eat two vending machines filled with tortilla chips and chocolate. He obviously had no money at the time, but she saw him down on his luck and put her job on the line to give him a warm meal. That was their first date, and every anniversary after I was born, my father would tell me that suit brought not only luck, but also companionship. You're a grown man, son. I could see you do great things for this community. Lord knows it needs it."

"Thanks pop. I met a guy over at Pralines talking to Angie. Are you familiar with an Anthony Green?"

"He was Frederick and Holly's boy from Prawn Court. Good people. It was unfortunate on how his grandparents took him in after that Carnales raid in '75." Eric said.

"He seemed like a good guy. Tonight, him and I are gonna hang out, get to know each other better."

"You think he's VK material?"

Ben hoped so. Otherwise, he'd be off to a promising start building the Vice Kings back up again he thought. A day in Stilwater can go breathtakingly fast or painfully slow, but this day was drawing ever close to helping Tony deal with his old crew. They've been spreading the word all over the Projects about the Cobras' new money making scheme and surprisingly the info stayed within the hood, whereas for the rest of the city it went about its business. When he thought about it however, the info could've been interpreted in any number of ways if it went beyond his borders.

He figured with Tony's help and, as much as he wanted to make it work, with Warren's thirst to be a gangbanger, they might have a fighting chance. That chance alone brought them to a brief standoff when a couple of yellow hooptys pulled up to a closed down Spelunkers Store in the Factories District.

It was a tense moment at first, but when Warren saw Tony with a twelve gauge in one hand and a glock in his back pocket, common sense screamed in his mind Tony meant business. They made their way inside the store, trying to keep out of each other's way. It didn't get any easier as they pushed themselves away from the outside world and into the old caverns underneath the city. The myths behind places like Old Stilwater and Shanty Town were always exaggerated; people tend to go missing or get stuck. While true, those who ventured to these places are usually bums and jobless types that can't pay for a drink anymore.

It has been said the typical street walker can always find something they've never seen before in Stilwater. The Caverns were no exception; only this time Ben, Tony, and Warren found themselves in a horrific turn of events. As they were walking through the brownish, stalactite caves, bums had demented looks on their faces as they stared at the guys like they were worm food. Distant screams told Tony they were heading in the right direction. Along the way, Warren came upon a corpse that looked female, riddled with bite marks and broken beer bottles surrounding her. He took a closer look, but suddenly he threw himself back after the corpse clutched his right ankle. Ben and Tony ran over along with the six VKs to check on him.

His eyes were wide open with his heart trying to bust out of his chest. He aimed his glock at the corpse and said, "What the fuck is this shit, man?!"

"Whoa, what's going on?" Ben asked him.

"Bitch grabbed my leg; thought she was dead." Warren said as he was being helped up. "Fuck off me..."

"Are we on the right track, Anthony?" Ben asked.

Tony walked cautiously to the girl with shotgun held firmly, and when he turned her over she was covered with cuts. Sadly, he knew the girl.

"Dana Ramos: 15 years old. She wanted to be a singer." Tony said shaking his head.

One VK couldn't believe she was a teen, "15; damn she at least twenty with a body like hers."

"Keep y'all voices down." Ben told them sternly.

Tony placed his ear on her chest and heard a faint heart beat which was a good sign. He then put her head on his knee and spoke calmly to her in order to find out if Byron was responsible for what happened to her. Apart from doing anything to make top dollar, Byron at time didn't want to get his hands dirty. After a few minutes of sparse breaths, she formed a few words on how she ran from a place called Glass Lake; a hole the third of the size of the Grand Canyon filled with water. The guys who grabbed her were pissed drunk and made sure she'd never tell anyone the Cobras' operation.

Tony at one point thought she was older too until Byron kept eyeing her in East Stilwater during their joyrides. He made a promise to her that he was going to make Byron pay for what he did, he counted on it, but in Dana's eyes it didn't matter anymore when they looked up and didn't breathe after that. He lowered her eyelids as he placed her on the ground and stood up leaving a cold vibe everyone was feeling. Ben reached out and said, "Your man Byron did this."

"He did." Tony spoke plainly before loading his shotgun. "We're this way."

Ben and Warren looked at each other with an understanding of the situation before pressing further into the caverns. Shanty Town had a giant watering hole where Byron and his crew were supposedly at with the kidnapped girls. The limestone corridors led them towards an open ravine that spanned to the town itself. It was unreal in everyone's eyes; an entire city of ruins that was being shifted to the side by the weight of levers and pulleys being worked on by contract workers under the Cobras' supervision. Ben couldn't keep count how many soiled young girls were being led into cages.

There were some on ridges; some were being lowered into the water for god knows what purpose, all under the guise of Byron himself. The man changed a lot Tony regrettably said. He had muscles and prison tats on his wrists; strange thing was he never set foot inside a jail cell. He used to be a man of vision, seeing their real estate profits from selling old apartments and crack houses to being just like every other scum bag in the city. In the 90's, kidnapping prostitutes was a hit and run kind of thing, ending up on the 11:00 news with degrading bile all over them.

A part of each VK felt disgusted except for Warren. He had no reaction from seeing the girls getting shoved into the cages. Manpower left a lot to be desired though. Before Shivington, there were forty members including contract workers they got in bed with over time. Afterwards there were less than sixteen. It was another sign of Byron's change in character. He always he made sure he made money for his homies, all forty of them. Compared to the rest of them, he was armed to the teeth from the McManus sniper rifle to C4 explosives. Ben noticed Tony was getting anxious as was the rest of the group.

"How do you wanna play this?" Ben asked him.

Tony pointed at cover spots and said, "Divide and conquer sounds good; as long as we keep moving behind those rock formations, we won't get iced."

"No, fuck that." Warren interjected. "We're stickin' together on this one. We ready to smoke those fools at a moment's notice."

"Enough. This is his job. He asked us to be here and we _will_ respect how he wants to do it." Ben told everyone.

"I don't recall asking what'chu think." Warren said getting hostile.

"You're right." Tony said standing over him. "Y'all listen to me. Those fuckers down there dip their bullets in snake venom and cyanide. We hit 'em in a group, none of us will get out alive."

"We'll take our chances." One VK said.

"You saw what they did to Dana back there. I'd rather smoke them as an ex-Cobra than a dying outsider. Ben, are you with me on this?"

Of all the homies he had to deal with over the course of two gangs, Tony seemed to make the most sense Ben thought. No one had any intention of dying in Shanty Town, and so they took that promise by spreading out to any rocky cover not seen by Cobra eyes. Tony made his way down as he saw Byron in awe of the "clean" girls being hoisted up by pulleys. That was a third character flaw he thought, taking his eye off what was happening around him. Any Cobra in the area had their share of fending off a yellow flag while Ben rendered a few unconscious.

Tony on the other hand didn't feel like taking in prisoners as he took his first shot at a member beating a couple caged girls with a stun baton. That was when the plan went sideways when Ben fought against two Cobras wielding barbed wire bats. One of them screamed Byron's name, and suddenly the entire town was hungry for a gun show. It was every member for himself. Ben managed to grab one of the bats from breaking the guy's kneecap and sliced the other guy's face off. A messy strip of blood spattered his face.

The other Cobra looked up at him with desperation, putting a gun to his head and said, "If you don't, I will…" Tony, Warren, and the others took cover and tried picking them off one by one. Warren turned the tables when he picked up a Desert Eagle from one of them, icing three with a kick back hurting his shooting arm like a Charlie horse. Throughout this ordeal, Tony had his sights fixed on Byron still marveling at the cages while the fight was going on. By the time he confronted him he clutched his shoulder and realized it wasn't Byron at all, but a mannequin.

At first he couldn't believe it, but he kept to the task by shooting the locks off the cages and telling the girls to stay put until the gunfight was over. Then, out of nowhere Tony got his head slammed against the metal bars and was restrained with a sniper rifle pressed against his spine. The Jamaican tone wafted in his ear with a sense of creepiness and said, "Welcome home, Cobra. Tony remained ever still by the familiar voice of Byron. Both moved slowly away from the last cage overlooking Glass Lake, and into the thick of the gun fight.

From there, he saw at least two VKs down with many more Cobras with their heads blown off. The more Ben and Warren had each other's backs he began to warm up to the possible truth he was fighting alongside the real Benjamin King. The entire ordeal lasted half an hour with the "divide and conquer" method to stay alive, but for Tony all he cared about was not getting a bullet in his back.

"Your ass shouldn't be down here, Green." Byron whispered to Tony.

"Neither should these girls. What the fuck happened to you?"

"…You're about to find out." Byron replied before stumbling on a crack in the ground.

He seized the moment snatching the rifle away while both of Byron's arms restrained as they moved closer. One of the last Cobras came up from behind Warren as he struggled to break another guy's neck. Ben had the honor of blowing half his face off, leaving bloody remains on the back of Warren's shirt. Ben came up to him and asked, "You good?" followed by Warren retorting, "Yeah…good lookin' out, homie." All that remained was Byron, still clean from the gun battles and on his knees before Ben and the potential Vice Kings.

"Hell of a setup, Byron. Two dozen kidnapped prostitutes and young teenage girls without the 5-0 raising any alarms? You're either very lucky, or very smart to pull this off."

"Let me end this, Ben." Warren insisted, reloading his glock. "His motherfucking ass is mine!"

"Not until we find out why he kidnapped these girls." Ben said.

"I'm not telling you dick, home slice." Byron said before getting hit at the back of his neck.

"It's over, B. The Cobras are done, and so are you." Tony said.

"…You never listen to me; not when I told you we were getting ripped off from the realty profits. Muthafuckas are greedy out there."

"Then why kidnap underage pussy?" Ben asked.

"The fuck does it matter; these hoes will be spoiled by the time he gets them."

"Who," Tony demanded, breaking his left arm in the process.

"Argh fucking shit; it was…it was a gift for Enrique Padilla! He's got a birthday or some shit coming up."

"Los Carnales." Ben said to himself.

"Those Lopez fucks are behind this." Warren said.

"He said he'd pay us top dollar a head, said they'd be taken care of." He said, staring at a cage. "Look at those girls. Did you know Stilwater has over 3,000 homeless walking 'round the city? They're either dead by angry pimps or Carnale drive-byes. Nobody cares about them. We were doing a public service really."

"And Dana was that a public service you had your boys do?" Tony asked, feeling agitated.

"She knew too much about our business; had to be put down. You were too sweet on her, but that's not who you are, T. You were thinking the exact same thing whenever we bounced in the streets. Teenage pussy's better than none at all."

"How could you, man? All the shit we did…all that was for rebuilding our home."

"What home?" He asked coldly. "All the "shit" we did belongs to the big flags now. I never begged for my life, so you do what you have to do, Ant. For what it's worth, I hope these guys give you a better life than I did."

Filled with anger and much to the gang's surprise, Tony tossed his shotgun aside and started landing punches on Byron's jaw. His body tensed with adrenaline running through his left arm. It brought him to the point of making one last effort to show restraint on an old friend. His throat closed and his eyes bulged, mentally demanding a reason why he changed. By the time he came to his own, it was already too late.

He felt himself getting lifted off his knees and back on his feet, seeing the bloody mess of a man he once called "family". Warren had a reaction that time, an unnerving one, and what was even scarier was that Byron was still breathing. The entire cavern was silent from the girls quivering in fear of him as well as the Shanties doing a double take on what just happened. Tony stood over him like a statue with blood dripping from his hands. Ben took the first step with his glock in hand and asked, "Can you walk, Tony?" The continued silence had him at a cold sweat.

He wanted to salvage the situation by having Warren and the VKs take the girls back to the surface and that he was going to call in an anonymous to pick them up. "You watch your back, Mr. King." Warren told him, fully accepting he wasn't a phony after all. Ben heard noises only a zombie would make when he looked down past the watering hole, seeing Shanties gathering around. It gave him an idea, but he put it on hold when he looked back at Tony still staring down at Byron. Walking towards him, a little girl stayed behind. She couldn't have been any more than eight or nine years old. She stood next to him, doing the same thing he was as she softly spoke, "Are all the monsters gone? He was the scariest of them all. You saved me." Following her appreciation with a tender hug, Ben ran over getting her attention.

"You're safe now, sweetie." Ben smiled at her.

"Can I stay with you two? My mommy and daddy were killed by this man."

Ben choked up a bit before telling her, "We'll…talk about it. Go on catch up with the others guys in the yellow shirts. You'll all be safe."

"What's your name, child?" Tony asked her in a calming tone.

"Anthony, we have to go." Ben insisted.

"Tanya. My name is Tanya. I'll never forget what you guys did for me." She said before running off with the others.

"Mark my words brother, when the Vice Kings become the most feared gang in the city, shit like this won't happen on our watch." Ben assured him.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Tony asked.

"Shanties tend to get loud when their dinner bell is rung."

"My thoughts exactly…"

They grabbed both ends of his body as it limped in a catatonic state with no sense of control. Looking down the cliff towards Glass Lake, the Shanty people were a rowdy bunch. Some were beating each other up with their sharp nails and killing each other with rocks. They tossed him over the edge and into the water where the Shanties took their pound of flesh. Ben and Tony walked away from the caverns leaving all what happened behind them.

As for Tony, although he felt justice was given to the girls that were kidnapped, the family bond he had with Byron wasn't easily broken. He kept going over and over in his mind on how he would have done things differently. Ben related to him on that level. Whenever he set his mind to something, he did whatever it took to see the results, never actually thinking the repercussions of what that venture may bring. He was getting better at thinking ahead though. He had a lot of ideas to bring to the Vice Kings.

He really felt he could make a big difference in Stilwater, turn the bloody tide the Carnales and Saints left in their wake. Coming out of the caverns, both his mind and conscience were clear from the haziness and desperation in Shanty Town. Ben, Tony, and Warren escorted the girls a few blocks away from Spelunkers before Ben called in the tip to pick the girls up. To the 5-0, it was a weird phone call to send out to apprehend two dozen girls, but by the time they finally arrived and Ben doing some fancy talking, Tanya stepping forward was the icing on the cake that the VK's were the heroes in this case. A few Caucasian and Chinese prostitutes attested to that.

The gruesome sight never changes Tony thought, witnessing an innocent girl like Dana Ramos being put in a body bag. He wanted to believe Ben's words in making sure kidnapping young girls never happened on their watch. Before they left, Ben congratulated everyone foiling a Carnales orgy. Wherever Padilla was drinking, he must be slicing his own men in half by now he said. It was their first step into the real world the Vice Kings were set in, and as Warren especially realized it wasn't going to get any easier with three other gangs going at each other. The following night, Ben and Angela sent out invitations for the VK's to meet them at Jelly James' Diner.

It was strange for Warren at first because just a couple days before, his head got crushed on the table and made the stupid mistake Benjamin wasn't the real deal. Walking inside with four VK's in tow, a buffet of soul food and alcohol filled the diner with appetite and confusion. James stood there in his apron giving Warren the death stare as they stood in the middle of the place wondering what was going on.

"What's good, Jelly J?" Warren asked.

"Things have been lookin' up past couple days, son. That reality check Ben gave you over at that table made my week all the sweeter." James replied.

"A'ight, I deserve that. I may be young, but I can admit I fucked up." Warren acknowledged.

"So what now, we gon' eat or stand here?" A VK asked.

All of a sudden, Angela came out of the back room with two big boxes as she placed them on a separate table. Some of the VK's were checking her out, including Warren giving her a smirk and a steely eye with a dozen thoughts rustling in his head.

"You need help with those, baby?" One member asked.

"Nah, I'm good." She replied turning around and facing them. "My name's Angela King. Ben will be here soon, just running late. James, I'll take it from here."

"Alright, give me a holler if any trouble." James said walking back to the kitchen.

"How's your head feeling, Warren?" She asked.

"Hard as a rock, but that ain't the only thing that's hard, you feel me?" He winked at her.

"That's funny. Aren't you kinda short to be making big claims?" She replied as everybody started chuckling.

The diner went from engaged to silent when Ben stepped inside along with Tony wearing a worn down, slightly ripped yellow t-shirt he wore as the co-founder with Julius. When his father walked out of the kitchen, his eyes brought him back to the day when the VK's were street kids, thugging and keeping red flags out of the Projects. It brought a tear to his eye that his family was brought together at last.

"Welcome home, son." His father smiled.

"Gentlemen, I'd like y'all to meet the true force that pushed me to making the Vice Kings what it was back in the day. Eric King: Sunnyvale bred and damn proud of it; just like many of us. Take a good look at this shirt. It's only been washed twice over the past 24 years. Many of these faded blood stains, shirt tears, they all tell a story. A lifetime ago, Los Carnales was the most feared and reviled gang in the city.

Nobody was safe from them, not from Alejandro Lopez or his two sons. Some tried but…well, if any one of you went to battle with them, thank the lord almighty you're still standing. Then they started walking into my home like they owned the joint. They blew up cars, tore down homes, shot people in the street; even burned kids alive in their beds. Why?

The answer's quite simple, but in my mind I had something to counter that answer. When I was 19, I had an idea; to build a new street gang that was going to rival the Carnales. My best friend Julius Little built upon that idea watched it grew in such a short time, and when we had the manpower as well as bullets, we acted with caution. Build, watch, and act. It's a good rule of thumb for life, and something I will teach all of you in time. The feud between red and yellow went on for a good five years until they couldn't take it anymore. Twenty-two of us walked in strapped and ready to erase their asses for good.

You know how many came out of it; ten. It was blind luck not every one of us was in body bags. It ended bloody though, left Sunnyvale a hollow shell of what it used to be. I thought when Julius and I went to the city to start fresh, I could learn from my mistakes and possibly reclaim Sunnyvale wearing a different flag. Tell you the truth I was a stranger on 3rd Street. I couldn't save Shivington, and I couldn't be straight with myself after the fact, but all that bullshit ended when we saved those girls in the Caverns. My condolences to Dana Ramos, Tony; she seemed like a sweet kid. You're here tonight because you want to take that next step in a larger world. I can't promise you the next few years will be easy."

"If it were easy, it wouldn't be VK." Warren brought up.

"Amen to that." Angela said.

"We ride together, we strive together. No one is alone is in this crew, and I fucking swear with every bone in my body the Carnales will pay for over twenty years of bloody history to our home. With that being said homies, welcome to the Vice Kings." Ben concluded as everybody clapped and dug into the food.

When Ben walked into Jelly's Diner, to the rest of Sunnyvale he was an outsider. He saw the Vice King name reduced to a bunch of kids playing gang bangers; Warren being his biggest problem. However, going into the Caverns those same boys in yellow came out as men; for how long was his problem to bear. He wasn't clear on the future. He didn't return home to live out the rest of his days, praying one day the gang wars would end. Instead, he came back to tell Sunnyvale and Shivington how real thugging and survival was really done.

From that moment on, he closed the chapter on who he was as a 3rd Street Saint forever. Stilwater was getting smaller and smaller with three, going on four street gangs taking over any territory they could find while shooting opposing flags at the same time. Ben took each day in stride, counting down the days the Carnales had left. Through all their strongholds, manpower, and political cesspools turning the tables, all he saw was one face: Alejandro's.

21


	5. Chapter 5: One hood left

One hood left

When a delivery convoy goes haywire, the normal half of Stilwater never bats an eye. When a delivery convoy goes haywire and a brother in purple goes missing, anyone living in Saints Row had the right amount of sense to lock themselves indoors. During the August heat wave of 1992, the Westside Rollerz was spoiling to get their hands dirty that didn't involve engine grease and lubricant. The men behind the juiced up street racing gang, Joseph Price and Willie Sharp, had four illegal auto part deliveries being transported via sixteen wheel truck. The end of the month was reaching closer and closer to the gang's grace period before they had to resort to racing for bets against each other.

Stilwater winter was a rarity, and when it came it hit the roads hard with ten feet of snow. The bad weather happened once every three years and soon goes back to being summer again. For a small gang, Price had the conviction to keep his guys in line and held their own against the other gangs. They built and locked down the suburban neighborhoods since they showed up in the 1980s, keeping their revenue from interfering with Carnales blood money. At times, Julius and the Saints would gain the upper hand on them, but before the last Roller met his end by the bullet of Johnny Gat, Price would make himself scarce and hit back at them when they least expected.

Around late October, a couple weeks before Halloween rumors spun about a surprise visit to Mission Beach that consisted of tire donuts and shooting up the Row's church. Everyone was on board, including Armando and Big D taking point on dismantling the truck. The objective from Julius was short and to the point: shoot out the tires, and wipe off any blue flag from the face of the goddamn Earth. Out of all twenty-one districts residing in the city, the Rollerz had a cargo distribution network that would make Manuel Orejuelas nervous. Without thinking of the alternatives, the Saints rode out and headed towards the Palation Highway where the Rollerz were protecting the cargo.

Three purple trucks armed and anxious to smoke some blue flags, they drove in a triangular formation. Gat and two new recruits Tyreese and Scott took the left corner, Dex and Julius covered the right along with A.J., Denzel, and Armando covering the wheel sabotage. The time was late and the road was a jaded sort. Those who rode on Palation tend to go off the road by means only hermits of the night would comprehend. Julius got on his walkie, telling them they were getting close.

"Alright, listen up. We're reaching the convoy those Rollerz are using to make illegal cars and sell them to the highest bidder. Now to those just canonized, this job might not mean shit to you, but with that kind of cash we can expand the crew to other districts, perhaps convince homies who are indifferent to us. Report in, everyone."

"_Word of advice: when I start shooting, y'all bitches can sit back and watch a pro at work." _Johnny said.

"Don't get cocky now, Johnny. Those auto parts won't be worth shit if you blow up the truck." Dex stressed to him.

"_Julius, why'd you bring the buzzkill?"_

"_With all due respect, I just want to come home alive." _Tyreese spoke behind the wheel.

"_For once, I agree with Gat. When we get rich off this job, I'll pay half my share to get him a V.I.P. pass to Tee 'N' Ay." _Scott chimed in while laughing with the others.

"Just stay focused on the task at hand, you feel me?" Julius asked. "Three Musketeers, talk to me."

"_We read you, bro. Let's get this shit started." _A.J. said driving.

"_Hell yeah, grenade ordinance all set. Those blue motherfuckers won't be breathing by dawn." _Denzel spoke with confidence, loading up his grenade launcher.

After a minute, Julius wasn't hearing anything from Armando. He then asked, "Hermano, are you in the game?" Julius asked him

"_Si, I got you, Jules. It's about damn time we earn pay dirt on those auto parts."_

"Y'all stay alert; try not to get shot by the gun toting psychopath next to me." Dex made clear as Johnny flipped him off.

"Like A.J. said, let's get this shit started." Jules concluded.

A mile across Palation, they came across the protection detail packing heavy heat to spill purple blood. As soon as the cars intersected, bullets flew passed each other while the Goliath truck took evasive action by swerving back and forth to run the Saints off the road. Denzel stuck his head out as he aimed his grenade launcher at one of the tires; pulling back immediately when a Ricochet vehicle sped past them like a saw going to work on wood. He managed to get his wind back five seconds later and fired off a shot at one of the tires. At this rate, this would be the first easy job to be pulled off by one person.

Luckily though, when memory served as past feuds with the other gangs, nothing they did was ever easy. A.J. pulled up to the front of the truck going up against the Ricochet speeding up. It then spun around until it was driving in reverse with two shooters firing off Mac-11 shots at them. D and Armando provided cover fire while Johnny, Ty and Scotty rolled over to the left to engage the truck driver. Never fuck with a half cut trucker Scotty always said, followed by Ty keeping the car steady as Johnny blew up two Quasar SUVs trying to get the jump on him. "That's another two down!" Johnny shouted.

Back on the front, the exterior of the Ricochet was taking a beating after another two grenades took out the shooters. However, it was still running perfectly, but just as A.J. was about to toss a C4 for good measure, the Goliath pushed the rear of their car, jolting all three forward against the seats.

"Aye carajo, what's it take to finish 'em off?!" Armando asked engaging a Quasar next to them.

"I could probably jump on the roof and force 'em to stop." Denzel suggested.

"Nah, hell no man, we ain't losing another Saint to these rich white boys." A.J. said ramming the Quasar, causing it to flip over and off the road. "Fuck it. Jules, please tell me we're making a dent on this damn truck."

For a man stuck in his ways and a Church dweller with a knack for tactics, they held their own shooting up six Voxel cars with Vice 9s and AKs. Dex got out his radio after the third time A.J. shouted out for their attention and said, "We're cool back here, homie. You guys disable that truck yet?" All of a sudden he saw one Roller with a nifty rocket launcher in his hand. The remaining five Voxels upped the arsenal ante wielding RPGs and determined looks on their faces like they had the Saints beat. "Julius…?" Dex asked waiting for an order.

Jules then retorted, "Separate! Everybody, get the fuck away from the truck!" With no quarter given from the blue team, five rockets flew out and towards any vehicles blocking the truck, purple or blue. Tyreese immediately made a hard right to avoid one rocket while Johnny said he had an idea. "Hold onto your nuts!" Scott said as the car went full on reverse with a fierce backlash hitting their taillights. From there, the inside turned into a three-man army with Ty giving them ammo cases while they pulled out M203 rifles.

One grenade from each rifle caused a tide of three Voxels exploding while handling the last two. Scott took another shot before they got rammed. From there, two drivers struggled against one another trying to stay on the road. Johnny took the up close and personal approach when he shouted to Ty, "Keep it steady! I got this fucker." He got on the roof of the car; the other Voxel went full throttle trying to shoot him. Scott armed a C4 explosive and timed it just right to hit one of their tires. Once Tyreese saw the detonator in his hands, he switched gears and sped up like there was no tomorrow, leaving a nice explosive surprise tumbling towards the other car as it sped towards Johnny.

Scott looked up at him as he leaped over to the last Voxel and said, "The fuck is he doing?!"

"Don't worry about him. He can handle himself." Ty assured him reloading his Mac-11.

"I ain't worried about him. I'm worried 'bout what Julius would do to us if he's somehow dead."

"At least it'd make Dex's balls drop; can't stand him arguing like a bitch."

The only bitches that had any semblance of balls left were the Rollerz swerving like maniacs to get Johnny off the roof. A blue flag popped out and just as he was about to pull the trigger, it got knocked out of his hand with a grenade jammed into his mouth. Holding the top and bottom of his head, Johnny looked him in the eyes and said, "This is our city, bitch…" He shoved the guy back in the car before having to make a life threatening decision in the next two seconds. As soon as he jumped off the car, the next thing he knew he was holding onto his life clinging two door handles to the auto parts. Julius looked ahead and saw Johnny was slipping off. He immediately got on the radio and shouted, "The fuck is Gat doing on that truck?!"

"_No shit, Julius. You shoulda seen him." _Tyreese replied.

"_Guess that explains why none of us are sane." _Scott pointed out.

"_We see him, Jules." _Denzel said. _"We'll get him down."_

"No! We've already past the halfway point on Palation. 5-0's gonna be on all our asses if we don't disable that truck." Julius made clear before he heard sirens coming from behind them.

"_Aw, you just had to jinx it, did ya Jules?" _A.J. said noticing an Oppressor chopper heading their way.

Police squad cars skidded on the road like a bat out of hell as they pursued the trigger happy gang members shooting up the highway. Julius and Dex told everybody to stick with the plan while Denzel had another one. At that point, Armando and A.J. didn't know whether he was crazier than Johnny, or had a death wish. Both depended on the former and knew they had the good kind of insane on their side.

"A.J., I need you to get me closer to jump the freight."

"You sure about this, brother; that Oppressor will have the spotlight on you the whole time." A.J. explained.

"Oye, do we have anymore grenades left?" Armando asked scavenging for any ammo. "We can keep the 5-0 busy while you get Johnny."

"Guys, we don't have time! Do or die on this shit." Denzel said.

As the police got closer, so did A.J.'s SUV steering closer to the left side where Big D hoisted himself on the roof. On the count of three, he jumped and used his right foot to lift him on top of the freight. The driver caught wind and decided to join the highway gun battle by delving some bullets out on A.J. Denzel wasted no time making his way towards the edge and managed to grab Johnny before he slipped off the handles. After that, it turned into an all-out royale between Saint and Cop. Another Oppressor flew in where Ty and Scott were heading towards an exit road that had several alleys and Rim Jobs to hide from.

Julius ordered them to separate and hide until the heat died down. Knowing Johnny could handle himself, but seeing everyone else in a bind they wanted to stay and help out. However, Julius was adamant about keeping the Row alive so they went their separate ways for the time being. As for the auto-parts dragging its weight towards the end of the highway after four wheels went out, there was still time to steal the truck and take it to a Rim Jobs. Suddenly, Johnny made a noise loud enough for both Oppressors to shine their spotlights on them.

"This ain't the time to play outlaw!" Denzel shouted at him.

"You're right! It's the best fucking night for _all_ Stilwater to see." Johnny laughed shooting off in the air.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes when he pulled Johnny away. Armando then shouted, _"It's now or never, D! Let's get out of here." _It didn't take much as a blink to see a highway chase go haywire in seconds. The police as well as the Oppressors pulled back and retreated while seeing A.J.'s vehicle tumbling towards the side of the road. Denzel blinked again. For another split second, he saw a speeding convertible fly past with Julius and Dex sitting in car wreckage. Blinking a third time, Johnny wasn't standing next to him anymore.

He looked around to see what the hell was going on before he made a hasty decision to jump off the freighter. Last thing he heard was the sound of a flash grenade going off, blinding and cutting him out of reality for god knows how long. Palation's gruesome aftermath didn't go out with a bang or a whimper for that matter, but the sounds of metal clanking on the skid marked road; the slight fiery warmth from the wreckage wafting by his face as he woke up. His vision blurred with his adrenaline still running on all fours; good thing he thought. He heard a loud crack from one of his legs, but the intense pain didn't hit him yet. With his throat closed up and his heart palpitating, he was up shit's creek with flash bang smoke dissipating from the highway.

He rolled over on his stomach, lifting himself on his good leg with an Uzi not too far from his reach. Just as he was about to reach it, a surviving Roller got sneaky and kicked his teeth in while he jumped on D. A sharp, broken car part spared a few more seconds of air when he deprived the Roller his own. The sun crept over the Claflin mountainside. No police sirens or any form of medical help came to the Saints' rescue. What a mess he said to himself trying to get his radio to work, but it was practically useless. However, he didn't need one from hearing the all too familiar voice of Stilwater's crooked Mayor and Joseph Price of the Rollerz. He hid behind one of the trashed Voxels and listened what they were saying.

"Are you sure these Saints are dead? There're no bodies here!" Joe said frustratingly.

"They survived worse. I think they got the message though; been out of the Carnales for too long." Alejandro replied.

"It's a fucking mess. My boys are dead, and my Uncle's gonna be pissed."

"He will be well-compensated for the nasty turn the Saints have wrought tonight. Trust me, son, your Uncle will understand."

"You don't know him like I do. Somebody's gotta answer for this, Mr. Lopez. I'll round up the crew and get at the Row later."

"Your crew is not big enough to go after Saints Row. If there are no bodies in these cars, that means they'll want retaliation too. _I'm_ going to give it to them."

"How; from what I hear your old war buddy, Padilla has been on a rampage on the other side of town. What kind of leader kills his own men simply because he feels like it?"

"That is not your concern." He made clear. "Padilla will be dealt with in time, and I know just how to solve your problem and mine at the same time. Fear not, Joseph, you tell your Uncle exactly what happened here. You tell him Los Carnales gave your crew an edge to help you stay alive. He'll understand."

Denzel heard enough for the Saints to be worried on what the Rollerz next plan was. He got up and started limping away from the wreckage when all of a sudden his left shoulder got shot, knocking him on his ass soon after. Struggling to get away, the only place he was going was the one Victor was taking him when he had his foot pressed on Denzel's back. In the distance, he saw a red flag walking closer and closer towards him with an M16 rifle on hand. Another set of expensive footsteps walked around and stood right in from of him as Alejandro said, "Ha, ha, ha, I knew it. Purple soldiers don't die easily…especially you, Sr. Tate."

"Mira, this is the one I told you about, father." Angelo pointed out. "This rechoncho bastardo (pudgy bastard) kept blowing up our drug runs coming out of East Stilwater."

"¿Quieres que ponga este pendejo de su miseria, Jefe? (Do you want me to put this idiot out of his misery, boss?) Victor asked pressing his foot down harder on his back.

"In spite of what's happened, today is a very good day." Alejandro commented. "My time as Mayor has come to an end which means I'm back in the game. Eh, Victor, tomar el Sr. Tate al engrasador boxes. Diviértete con ella mientras estás en ello." (Take Mr. Tate to the greaser pits. Have some fun with him while you're at it.)

"I'll get my guys up here to clean up the mess." Angelo said.

"Let Deputy Chief Monroe of SPD get his hands dirty for once." He replied before turning to Victor.

Denzel reached out, grabbed Victor's leg and mumbled, "Been waiting. When I get my hands on you…"

"Voy a disfrutar torturando a usted y a su esposa. (I will enjoy torturing you and your bride.)" He laughed and knocked him out.

Palation Highway took its sweet Sunday drive towards the airwaves and news stations while other conflicts emerged with the other gangs. There were reports of Carnales rejuvenating ranks with Colombian blood, an unusual alliance between Alejandro and William Sharp of the Rollerz, and how the city's disfavor to Saints Row kept growing. Year after year, it was the same promise made by Julius: to keep gang violence off friendly streets and ensure safety for the people of Stilwater. It was already six years with so little progress made to keep the peace, but it became more than what the Saints could handle. Canonized homies held their own before dropping out barely a year after being initiated into the gang.

If there was one thing new bloods feared most was losing their families. Some still remembered the day Shivington got hit by Padilla and his crew; a bunch of red and black Pit Bulls and Rottweiler's tearing away anything that looked at them wrong. Not just the Saints, but the Westside Rollerz too. Being the smallest gang of the four, the Carnales saw them as a weak link draining away their financial investments over street races and drive-byes. When the leader of the gang Joseph Price saw Alejandro as an old man with too much Colombian coffee in his system, his uncle Sharp saw opportunity.

What's a city without a little insanity to make life interesting? Being an unstoppable local attorney and Alejandro's Mayoral influence on the more desperate parts of town both had a common goal for citywide takeover. Only in Sharp's case, he had another vision in mind that didn't involve seeing red walking about the streets like they have for three decades. Whatever the case, they kept each other financially sound with the gun trade and protection for car shipments being hauled from Poseidon Alley to their home base in the suburbs. How long was the partnership was anyone's guess at this point.

As for Benjamin King and the Vice Kings he recruited over the last three years were getting nothing but guesses and second opinions, especially for Ben trying to establish the balance between gang banger and legitimate businessman. Since getting his degree in Business Management and Finance, he was chomping at the bit to get a piece of the music game and work his way from there. The people have spoken; music just wasn't what it used to be back in the mid-70s to early 80s. 90s era was the fame train picking apart anything with underground talent, and discarding it like a used soup can. The hip-hop scene was watered down with lyrics of dropping a thousand bodies and tapping the hoes afterwards.

Warren Williams took a particular interest in the rap scene, laying down some mixtape tracks of his own to send to labels. Much to his surprise, they were rejected by many music labels across North America. One night on a Freckle Bitches splurge, Ben, Angela, Tony, and Warren brainstormed new ideas to not so much convince the music industry to change its tune, but to rival it. It all came to down to a question of money, and on Angela's side of things all of the revenue Pralines and Co. receive go to pool parties and charities nobody even heard about. They were all for building a brand new music studio from the ground up, and Tony chimed in one small label in East Stilwater that would at least grant them an audience to work out a business plan.

The day after the Palation hit, Ben, Warren, and Angela drove up to East Stilwater to meet Jeremiah Winslow; a retired college professor that went looking for the promoting gig of up and coming singers. Their label was considered the heart of the music industry in Michigan, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, all the big named states that didn't have a new track go viral without Winslow's two cents. Ben finally got in the room with him and really had to bring his A-game to win him over on business building. All three stood before him with a slideshow in place and testimonials on what people thought of music now.

Confidence built up inside Ben as he had his grandfather's business suit with a yellow shirt and black tie to match. He introduced himself, "Thank you for taking the time to see us, Mr. Winslow."

"I understand other labels have been dead ends for you, Mr. King. Before we begin, mind telling me what happened?"

"To surmise it, other labels like DollaFord, Gonzalez Entertainment, and Dungeons of Rap saw one thing and fell back on another: profit with no soul behind it. By the end of today, I hope me and my two managing partners, Angela King and Warren Williams have sold you on the fact we can bring musical genres like hip-hop and underground rap to profitability."

"You have the floor, Mr. King. Why should I believe _you_ are the answer to the industry's teetering downfall?"

Angela set up the projector while Warren got together any information and index cards based on how he felt about the rap scene. The presentation was set up in three parts with Ben closing the business pitch with six testimonials throughout various places in Stilwater, preaching for a change. Once they were set up and the lights dimmed, Warren took the reins.

"It's a good thing Benjamin brought up those labels before because each one represents a major problem in music. Right off the bat, we got Gonzalez Entertainment: founded in 1971 by a washed up MC by the name of Dean Gonzalez. His preferred genre centered around Merengue, Salsa, Spanish slow songs by Devon Castro and Terrence Ortiz. For the first four years, Dean Gonzalez pioneered a generation of Spanish-American beats that would send the entire city dancing up a storm at block parties and the like. Not only were his beats innovative, but within walking distance for anyone living in Midtown.

Although the facts were gone over with a fine tooth comb, nobody knew how he was coerced by the Carnales to be working up original Spanish tracks their way. Alejandro Lopez paid him in phony rubies, and a severance package with the promise he could continue being the loser MC he was before. Long story short, the man got greedy, and is deep within Alejandro's pocket." He said as he brought up a pie chart on the projector. "His label loses $170,000 every year in CD sales and monthly gross revenue, but somehow the Carnales are able to keep him in business. Mr. Winslow, I'm a rapper myself. I got a lot to offer in my words and how the streets of Sunnyvale and Shivington are hurting every single day. If you consider our proposal, our company will lift their spirits again." Warren concluded before turning over to Angela.

"If there's one thing missing that makes songs like "Stilwater Ascension" by Roderick Naples and "Return Home" by Amistad Kumar special is soul. What kind of music do you listen to, sir?"

"I tend to detract myself from the more mainstream music, mostly listen to Jazz along with any song that has an upbeat feel to them. It's funny. The one you mentioned by Amistad Kumar was an old war buddy of mine in Vietnam. His music authenticates the psyche of what many of our soldiers go through, and how they find the solace within themselves to march onward. Are you familiar with his other tracks like "Mine Jungle"?" He asked.

She replied immediately, "I am. Despite its name, it was a very sad story how Amistad had to watch eight of his friends die in a jungle of landmines after the Tet Offensive was a go to bring down the South Vietnamese Government. If history is right, the offensive didn't go as planned."

"No. DollaFord had to cut him loose because of his PTSD." He spoke with sorrow for his friend. "I tried giving him a job over here, but…continue, Ms. King."

Suddenly, everyone heard knocking from Jeremiah's secretary, Amy. She came in with excitement in her eyes as she told him to turn on Channel 6. "It's 'bout damn time." Warren whispered to Ben. Jeremiah told the three to stay a while as they watched an old murderer step down from his Mayoral campaign. It was a long time coming in the eyes of those who counted the days, but it was here. Alejandro gave his farewell address, saying he was doing more damage than repair to his "beloved" Stilwater.

Not everybody was stupid enough to believe he was playing the "ends justify the means" card. He was elected out of fear, mainly because when former Mayor Arnold Benning was out of the picture, the city was afraid there wouldn't be a strong political figure keeping the gang activity contained. Back then, some people were open to the idea to have the leader behind the Carnales take office as a way of making his gang legitimate. When Ben was rolling with the Saints, he and Denzel came upon some delicate info that could drain all of Lopez's funds to keep it quiet. As his speech went on, he shocked the crowds on a secret he was holding for a long time.

It didn't take long to click in Ben's head that Dex would leak the information about his real activities in Colombia through subliminal messages in the Stilwater Gazette. Apparently, someone in the crowd got those messages too. However, instead of doing the usual shoot from the crowd, a guy Warren recognized from Shivington tried to ice him with an automatic weapon. "Oh my god…" Angela said seeing the man get manhandled. Jeremiah shut off the TV in his office the second they showed cops beating down the shooter. He sat before them rubbing his eyes before continuing the meeting.

"For once, some justice is done in this city." Jeremiah said.

"Dwayne." Warren spoke up. "We used to shoot baskets every Saturday. Guess he found who shot his family last year."

"Why didn't you tell us, man?" Ben asked.

"You have my condolences for your friend, Mr. Williams. Look, I uh…I got to make a phone call so we're going to have to pick this up again another time."

"Angie, Warren, mind giving us the room for a minute?" Ben asked them.

Ben worked too long to get where he was in his path on being both a businessman and a gang leader. The testimonials he had were one thing, but after what happened at City Hall, he took a chance on revealing to Winslow on who he really was as a person. Jeremiah was an old fashioned man. He had to feel the other man's ambition before he could help him. Angela gave him a wink and a confirming nod as they waited outside his office, hoping for a chance to build their business.

"Unless you know who my son is and that he's alright, I'm afraid we're going to have to postpone…" He said before Ben interrupted.

"The Sunnyvale War, ever heard of it?"

"Well, it was the first time in years the Carnales were challenged by a lesser known street gang."

"The Vice Kings. It was an idea me and an old friend created together. Then it became a family for a time."

"And what does that have to do with our meeting?"

"Sir…my future is riding on this venture." Ben said as they sat back down. "I want to leave my mark on Stilwater as a respected and influential member of the community. Music brings everyone together; we both know this. Now that Lopez stepped down, the Vice Kings will step in."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Carnales has done enough damage to my family for years. My younger sister can't even go to the store without packing a gun for protection. What I'm saying sir is that their days are numbered. His sons are already stepping up as leaders of the gang as Lopez lost half his sway. I propose a new deal. The Vice Kings lure him back to Sunnyvale and execute him, and you grant me and my partners the down payment to get our business off the ground."

"I don't respond to initiated violence, Mr. King."

"No, you respond to justice. That's more than what Deputy Chief Monroe gives for Stilwater PD. The Vice Kings are under my tutelage now. We understand the gravity the Carnales weighs on this city. Let us remove that weight by removing Alejandro. I take over his turf, and we forge a new future in music."

Looking into his eyes, Jeremiah saw him being as genuine as he could be along with a killer instinct to bring down an old threat. However, having a resolve made of stone, he still told him he needed time to process what went down in the meeting. For some reason, Ben didn't protest against his need to think things through. He was in the same boat in terms of ensuring his business future, wherever it led he thought. As for how the future was going to look for Stilwater in the battling 90s era, soldiers of purple and blue were recovering from the aftermath of the highway crusade they waged.

Armando, A.J., and Julius were resting in the ER at Stilwater General while Armando couldn't get any sleep from severe soreness in his ribs. You'd think he'd get used to the surprise attacks and no matter how careful he and A.J. were driving, they would get into accidents anyway. Apart from his injuries, his brain felt like it was underwater; an ironic imagery to the same dream he was having the past few years. They went from appearing every now and then to frequent. Since seeing Arianna in a whole new light at Mt. Claflin, his underwater dreams had him floating slowly towards the dark depths until he met a warming embrace from Arianna herself.

This time, it wasn't an eye-opener, or the faint sound of her voice. He also noticed he wasn't wearing his colors and that his shoulders carried an overbearing weight on them. There was a time when being a 3rd Street Saint was a recreational gig, be a part of something other than his own family. These days, he wasn't so sure. Like anyone trampling through war, it eventually feels numb in seeing dead bodies and destruction everywhere. That's what he was feeling for the past three and a half years. The mansion crashing to the Shivington turf war of '89; will it ever go back to normal he once asked himself? Then again, normal wasn't really a constant in Stilwater. He opened his eyes to the bright lights in the ER to two annoying, yet safe faces sitting by his bedside.

"Welcome back. How are you feeling, hermano?" Carlos asked.

"Hey, we got them tonight. I told you I would." Armando smiled.

"I'm glad you're okay. The doctor said you and Antwon went flying on a highway."

"I wouldn't recommend it, ugh." He struggled to sit up.

"I got that." Carlos said adjusting his back pillow.

"Gracias; Carlos, do you want me to talk about what happened out there? Are you ready to hear it?" He asked as Ferdinand was waking up from sitting in a chair.

"He's awake, Tío. Antwon and Julius are still sleeping."

"It's just another day in Stilwater, eh Uncle?" Armando chuckled in pain.

Ferdinand was the only one in the room who didn't keep a positive outlook on the situation. Armando knew this, but both were trying to suppress what they were really feeling from Carlos. At least his little brother kept a smile throughout the whole Saints Row ordeal. He was both excited Armando found a niche in where he belonged, but at the same time a little scared the more danger he put himself in, the more he came out of it more damaged than before. That was Ferdinand's biggest concern. The mood changed depending on what day it is. Sometimes Armando enjoyed being a Saint a little too much, while other days it took its toll on him like he was hiding something.

"You had us worried there, sobrino. Doctors said you and A.J. flew a mile straight on Palation. He said it was a miracle you two survived. Carajo milagro. (Goddamn miracle)"

"The "attacks" have been getting mucho peor (worse). With the Rollerz making moves in street racing and making bread off their auto parts, the Row can't seem to catch its breath." Armando said looking at A.J. and Julius. "Thank god we're still breathing at all."

A third visitor walked in with sharp red and black threads, looking like a Casino gambler who was at the wrong crap table. Armando cringed at the sight of Manuel and slowly looked away while Ferdinand had his eyes firmly fixed on the Speaker of the Carnales. He kept Carlos behind him as he stood defensively while Manuel came in peace.

"I heard what happened." Manuel said looking at Ferdinand. "Tranquilo, my friend, I am not here to cause trouble."

"Spoken like a true Carnale. This is a family room. You weren't invited." Ferdinand made clear to him.

"Uncle, who is he?" Carlos asked.

"Está bien, hermano pequeño. Él no le hace daño." Armando said.

(It's okay, little brother. He won't hurt you.)

"I would like to speak to your nephew." Manuel said.

"That's not gonna happen, ese. Whatever you gotta say, tell it to someone who gives a damn. Your boss is off the Mayor pedestal, which means Los Carnales won't be around for much longer."

"I won't insult your intelligence by saying not all of us are devils, Sr. Mendoza. I know the things we've done are beyond redemption, but we're not the only guilty ones here." Manuel explained looking at Armando. "I'm offering an olive branch to your nephew and Saints Row. I've done all I could to…"

"You haven't done a damn thing. All this city has done since Lopez took office was turning Saints Row into pariahs. If you want intimidate what's left of my family, you come through me."

Armando chimed in the conversation by saying, "If it's a truce you want, then you're lucky I'm the only who's able to listen. Uncle, take Carlos to the Cafeteria."

"Are you sure about this?" Ferdinand asked.

"…Guess we'll see, won't we?"

Ferdinand gave Manuel a dirty look and not once took his eyes off until he left the room. From there, Armando suddenly felt nervous about whether or not Julius and the others would wake up. Manuel assured him otherwise.

"Don't worry about your purple hermanos waking up. I had a guy put them under heavy sedation."

"Good, so what are you doing here?" Armando asked.

"What happened on Palation Highway?"

"The Rollerz were transporting illegal auto-parts out of East Stilwater. It was the sixth time this month. We had them on the ropes until El Jefe wrecked all of us."

"How did you know it was him?"

"I saw him walking past the truck's wreckage before I passed out. I don't remember much after that."

"Then we'll have to assume Alejandro betrayed us."

"You don't seem bothered by it; thought you two were war buddies." He brought up.

"The man lost my respect the day he took over the Mayor's office. He was a man of morals back in Colombia."

"Then get your Colombian Cartel friends to deal with him. Or _we_ will."

"That's why I'm here. Padilla and Arianna are here too, not by my doing, but I'll be long gone and you in a wheelchair by the time he comes in." He sighed greatly. "I don't know what kind of "sadness" she sees in you, Armando. Perhaps that scar she gave you at Mt. Claflin. Let's hope you can bury it long enough until my old best friends are handled. Here's how you do it."

When it came to redressing a business that was caught up in blood feuds and greed, Manuel was the voice of reason for the Carnales. For a man opened to his own opinions about how Alejandro and his sons ran the crew, a pep talk or a recommendation usually sets the tone for what happens next. He blamed himself for not being around more often to keep someone like Angelo in line. Over the years, he found a father in both Padilla and his own patriarch, taught to believe if order is not contained within the boundaries of their city, blood must be shed to send the proper message for all parties to step back. Hector on the other hand was everything his father used to be: level-headed, reasonable, not the pendejo playing "executioner" in an impoverished community such as Sunnyvale Gardens.

The Stoughton Shipyard incident in '88 was the last straw for Manuel. The soldier in him wanted nothing more than to look his old war buddies in the eyes before seeing the sickly bodies they have the best care possible. La Violencia took large chunks of humanity from each of them, but he had enough sense to put aside his gun and find a lucrative cause working for the Colombians. He networked with cocaine and the gun selling, kept his business partners happy and looking the other way from Alejandro's crusade for city-wide takeover. He couldn't keep lying for them anymore.

Also having an open mind, he tried his luck with a Saint who Arianna left her mark on. After a week, it was still a rocky alliance, but it was a lot better than forming a secret alliance with the Rollerz. They didn't need help from other flags he thought.

In the East Wing of the hospital, Padilla did his weekly visit to his comatose wife while seeing his newborn daughter, Isabel in the Daycare center. She was born nine months after Stoughton was hit. Miracles kept appearing in faded forms to Padilla as he kept asking himself did he deserve a beautiful second child. The days kept getting harder to stomach as he found less and less ways to keep Maria on life support. Arianna came into the ER holding Isabel like she was her very own. Padilla did nothing but smile seeing the two of them together.

"Hey, look who's here?" He smiled.

"She was fussy with the other kids. One of the nurses wanted me to take her out for some fresh air. Wanna see your daddy?" She whispered handing her over.

Holding Isabel, he replied, "Just like her El Viejo (old man); always making friends." He chuckled.

"Angelo told me to tell you the Carnales are ready for retaliation…?"

"It had something to do with Alejandro's resignation this morning. The Ghetto Vote never came through, and was rumored someone from Sunnyvale wanted to settle an old score. It's gotta be Eric King's boy."

"My friend Carissa substituted for a professor at Stilwater U. She encountered Benjamin a few times, but never spoken to him."

"He's playing the game smart. That's more than I could say for myself. Ari…I know you and Hector have a way of running the crew that's foreign to me and his father. I look at those men then I look at Isabel. Why am I still being the soldier I was 25 years ago? That's what my other daughter asked me before she stopped writing to me from Colombia."

"Do you think she'll ever get back to you?"

"I hope so." He said looking into Isabel's light brown eyes. "As much as I love rooting out anything posing as a threat, as you get older you have to see what's exactly in front of you."

"Father-in-law never said anything of you being sentimental."

"…My humanity is hanging on a thin piece of yarn, Ari. I already lost Luisa. Isabel's giving me a second chance to get my act together. I don't want to fail her."

Arianna sat in a chair, listening to Padilla's words of redemption as he was smiling at his one key to redemption. Before family came into the mix, he was all about peace for the Colombian people. It didn't matter if lived like a pauper or a King after the war was said and done. The sad fact was blood continued to spill in Colombia just as much as it spilled from the bodies of their enemies in Stilwater. No matter how many lives he took with Angelo, Hector, and Victor, the city kept closing in and was getting crowded with three other gangs moving in on their controlled turf.

Looking at Maria, Arianna asked his thoughts on what to do with Alejandro since a brave citizen tried to whack him on live TV. The roots of deceit grew the more he, Manuel, and Alejandro fought during La Violencia. They saw war through the eyes of sadists, cannibals, bodies being picked off by buzzards and anything with a gun was pointed at them. What drove them apart Padilla would take it to his grave along with a big piece of the guilt. As a high ranking officer, he abused the power whenever he could.

He didn't realize it back then, but having a one night stand with Maria at the Bogotá bar was more of a sign for him to set his life straight. Something was in motion within the Carnales ranks. Alejandro was concocting behind the scenes on something that was going to give him a piece of mind. That way of planning put the Projects in an unsteady state. While the wheels of Lopez's secret plan were turning in his mind, the unraveling of a captured Saint stirred things up in ways that weren't clear yet.

Denzel woke up in chains with cinderblocks attached to them. He felt lightheaded trying to find out where he was. His shoulder felt numb from where he was shot and no chance of breaking free. Suddenly, his heart jumped when he heard a phone ringing coming from the ground. It was his satellite phone that was only used as emergencies. Using his right hand, he grabbed the phone and tried to act natural with Renee on the other line.

"Baby, is that you?" He asked.

"_Oh, thank god. Yeah, it's me. Are you doing alright? Ty and Scott called me and said you weren't at the hospital with the other guys."_

"No I…I hung back this time. Those white boys in blue shirts were a bunch of nobodies. I'm doing okay. Did either Jules or A.J. call yet?"

"_Dex came by and said everybody made it through except for you. I was so worried, D. I know nothing can kill you, but…"_

"I need to stop talkin' outta my ass." He chuckled. "Wait, Th-the test results, what'd the doctor say?"

"_It was gonna be a surprise. It's positive, baby. We're going to be parents." _She said with relief in her voice.

He broke down in silence as his tears dropped to the dirt. For the past year and a half, both he and Renee have been trying for a kid in hopes of expanding their family within the Row. He didn't how to take the news. He was both happy it was happening, and angry on finding Victor and putting his boot to his skull once and for all. Fate appeared in the form of a walking tank named Victor as he told Denzel to stay quiet. He picked up the phone and in the blink of an eye, he broke it in two. The color left his face, and the emotions flooded into his eyes staring at Victor, like he had him where he wanted him. But they weren't the only ones present inside what seemed to be an abandoned fighting arena.

"You remember this place, homes?" Angelo asked walking up behind him. "In spite of the city's rich industrial culture, Stilwater had its fair share of natural disasters. Earthquakes were very popular in the 40's and 50's. We are standing in the original construct of "No Holds Barred". The greats fought here, but the last great boxing champion had a dangerous curse. You see, Artemis Howell had a hard time maintaining a mutual respect for his boxing rivals. He was a hot head. What was his signature move, Victor?"

"El brazo del tubo." Victor retorted.

"El brazo del tubo. You know what that means, Denzel? Ah, you won't have to experience that. All we want to know is who leaked my father's war record a day before he made his farewell address as Mayor? Creo que duro, think hard, and I might consider leaving you with a concussion and a fat lip."

Denzel closed his eyes for a second. Victor and Angelo looked at each other thinking he just dozed off right then and there, but suddenly he cracked a half smile and said, "You assholes caught us. We leaked that info; thought the city had a right to know who they were dealing with. Then again, they knew damn well of the Lopez dark family tree and voted for him anyway. That's why we're here, Saints Row: the purple paragon to the misguided and drunk types so they can point their fingers at the real bad guys. That leaked info just put things in perspective."

"You're trying my patience!" Angelo shouted.

"And yo' ass is driving me to break both your goddamn necks." Denzel replied, looking at Victor. "Especially you, bitch. I've been waitin'."

"Last chance, give me the name of the pendejo responsible, or I'll let my "bitch" hermano ir a la ciudad en su inútil ass (go to town on your worthless ass.). Saints Row is done. My father is back in the ranks along with Hector and me. It won't be long until this city is ours again." Angelo said as Victor nodded in agreement.

"Alright, the name is kind of hard to reach. See, he's been with us since the beginning. In fact, he was born with us along with his two short brothers. They don't get out much. Whenever they are, they're usually getting it in with some fine, big boned, chocolate feline 'till they're satisfied."

Angelo got fed up, put a beretta to Denzel's head and asked, "Where is he?"

"…Pull my boxers down and see for yo'self." He replied grinning.

Angelo felt a surge of rage in his right hand as he used it to smack Denzel so hard the acoustics picked up on it. Denzel spat out some blood and when Victor lifted one of the cinderblocks, Angelo stopped him and shouted, "No!" He had something else in mind; something that involved the entire Row to watch and the Carnales to partake.

Back on the surface where the city was under a rumored panic, Stilwater PD was tooling up for a possible gang war to end all gang wars between Los Carnales and the rising gang called the Vice Kings. Sirens among sirens whizzed past city streets like a sea of shooting stars, almost running some people over along the way. However, Deputy Chief Monroe wasn't the only man suspicious of high levels of gang activity. When word reached back to Sunnyvale that Alejandro was coming to finish the job he failed to do in the 70s, Benjamin was way ahead of making preparations for his arrival. All hands were on deck making their diversions to lower red flag numbers.

Ben and five VK's marched the streets to make sure each corner of the neighborhood had six yellow flags with an arsenal to stand up to Lopez. Warren drove alongside him in his fresh painted gold Zomkah to get his attention.

"Yo, B, Sunnyvale and Shivington looking like a fucking fortress, dawg!"

"That's the plan. Did Miles report back from his scout?"

"Nah, not yet, I'm gonna go get him now. How are things on your end, Mr. King?"

"I told you Warren, we in this together. There's no "Mr." around these parts. Angela and Tony are hitting up any Rollerz strongholds for a Goliath truck. We're gonna rig up each car with explosives, plant them in alleyways and spots the Carnales won't think to look. If we're lucky, one of them will take the big Jefe out."

"Hell yeah, you want me to stay close for any surprise attacks?"

"No, you need to find Miles and get his ass back here in one piece. I need everybody here on all fronts."

"Cool, I got you man!" Warren said.

Ben called out to him before he drove off, "Warren, make sure you get back safe too, you feel me?"

"Hey Ben, is it true what the streets been saying 'bout the Carnales losing sway over the city?" One VK asked.

"He gave up his political power. Nobody can protect him now; no 5-0, even Monroe turned his back on him."

"A dangerous man is a man with nothing to lose. Make no mistake homies, the Carnales still got a tight hold over Stilwater. If Lopez retakes the Projects, the other gangs will drop their flags and split. There's only one hood left he needs to reclaim his street power. We built, we watched, and now we're acting. The Carnales put the hurt on my family for too long. For that, I'll give no fucking quarter."

For almost thirty years, Los Carnales spilled blood throughout the hoods and locked down the districts with an iron red fist. The past three years was a rocky road to walk on, but everything was finally falling into place for Ben. People weren't running scared; the Vice Kings worked hard to put hope back into the ghetto and seeing brothers and sisters making it out. Small victories led to this very moment, the moment to see who will become King of Sunnyvale.

19


	6. Chapter 6: Sunnyvale King

Sunnyvale King

The Lopez Mansion turned military stronghold had every red flag gearing up with Mac-10s and AK-47s. Padilla drove back just as they were ready to move out. He and Angelo met up at the front of the house to touch base on what was going on. That was when he looked at Alejandro, and for the first time in a long time he didn't see a man with an expensive suit and smelling like boysenberries, but a soldier going on his last march.

Padilla took his Smith and Wesson, and a rack of grenades as he walked up to his friend, clenched his left shoulder and said, "That brown attack vest really makes your eyes pop. Are you sure you know what you're doing?" At first, he didn't have an answer to that, but his eyes said it all when it was looking at a hospital wrist band hanging out from Padilla's pocket. He looked and noticed the same thing and asked him, "Maria is not going to make it. Before we leave, I got to ask if you had anything to do with her illness?" Alejandro placed both hands on his shoulders, telling him today was a day of reclamation, a major turning point for Los Carnales to be in power again.

He gave an endearing smile as he walked away from his old Colombian brother. Padilla returned one last look behind him before he gathered his Colombian soldiers of similar Carnales fashion. Hector and Arianna equipped themselves as they were about to drive out. Before they got in their car Alejandro walked up and offered any last words to help them on their way.

"Mi hijo." (Son) Alejandro addressed Hector.

"Father," He replied plainly.

"I see you are taking the wife with you."

"We train together. She's more than capable with a machete." Hector said.

"It's true. I have his back as he has mine." Arianna said holding his hand.

"That's good. It still baffles me how much you've grown up, Hector. If only your mother…"

"Are we done here?" He interrupted. "I'd like to get this done by lunch."

"Be safe out there. No matter what happens, I'll always love you and Angelo. You two kept me alive. Be sure to tell him that, yeah?"

"Adios, El Viejo. (Goodbye, old man.)" Hector doesn't say it. The tension never really deflated between them since he went for Mayor, and from that time to now Stilwater was no longer theirs. The test of a man was measured by the company he kept, and the enemies he made. For the last six years, the Lopez brothers have worked in their respective positions as business negotiator and soldier, trying to keep the drugs flowing through the bowels of the city and taking out anyone wearing the wrong flag. Slowly but surely, the Carnales were reduced to being a piece of the city's pie, keeping their drug and gun-running profits while making the Colombians happy.

Alejandro got in his car with eight red flags ready to give their lives for him as the entire crew drove away from the mansion. It was a shiny morning with the yellow sun rising over the city. Along the way, he made a last minute phone call to set his affairs in order. Police cruisers flew past them without knowing to stop a Carnale vehicle in its tracks. "Everybody wants to die today." He said to himself.

"It's me. Start sending your men to Shivington. Yellow flags have sent scouts to recon the area; don't know how many. I don't want them to ruin my element of surprise."

"_My Uncle said we do this one last favor. Then we're fucking done." _Price made clear.

"Agreed, he and I will keep to our arrangement on maintaining our controlled neighborhoods. Also, about that "other thing" we discussed."

"_No, hell no; he may be a sick son of a bitch, but my crew don't swing that way." _

"Has he ever taught you the meaning behind "scapegoat"? Get it done. We'll officially part ways when this is over." Alejandro said before hanging up.

Deputy Chief Monroe wasn't screwing around when made an informal statement on live TV a week before saying he was prepared to use the full extent of his precinct to "eradicate the gang element" off the face of Stilwater. Citizens were told to stay indoors until the matter was dealt with. Road blocks and SWAT teams prepped up while 5-0 cruisers formed perimeters leading into the Projects. The news media labeled the city as a Code Black hail; a time that was only on blueprint since the Sunnyvale War of '75. Everyone was feeling claustrophobic from the police's involvement, so much not even college kids couldn't come out of their basements to score some meth.

Mission Beach surprisingly to the Saints was the only neighborhood Monroe hadn't touched yet. It was odd though Julius thought sitting out in front of the Church, smoking a cig while Dex was still recovering from the night before. It was a miracle Saints like A.J. and Armando were able to stand up at all after the Palation job. If Alejandro hadn't declared war on the Projects, the Row would have stayed out of this, but history was a hereditary excuse for Julius to pay homage to his roots. Johnny walked towards the Church steps like he was an action hero walking away from an explosion, but unlike most 80's movie stars, Johnny had cuts all over him with a left arm in a sling.

Both gave each other a nod as Johnny asked, "Got a hit?" Julius took out his cigarette pack and handed it to him. From there, he sat next to him trying to figure out what to do next.

"Did the 5-0 follow your ass, Gat?" Julius asked smoking a puff.

"Fuck no, they're too busy worrying about the Carnales." He replied looking up at the sky. "So, any chance we hittin' another truck any time soon?"

He gave him a look and said, "Jesus, Johnny, is you even human?"

"Only live once, right?" Johnny coughed. "What happened to me, the broken arm, leaving tiny pieces of myself on that highway, that shit is small time where I'm from."

"Might need to soldier up and roll into Sunnyvale."

"For what; to help your oldest friend win a fight he told you to stay the fuck away from? Where do I sign up?"

Julius shook his head when timing became impeccable for Armando and A.J. to show up. As for Tyreese and Scott, last anyone heard from them was them finding a safe place to hide from the cops. That was six hours ago Johnny told them. After reconvening with harsh wounds being medicated all around, they went inside the Church and towards the back where Julius had a rectangular, expensive looking made office table where four council seats were present at each corner. Since parting from Benjamin, he went to work on renovating the Church with what little money he had coming in from the neighborhoods the Saints took over.

It took a few years, but it was shaping up to be an actual home base for the Saints to soldier in times of trouble. All four went up to where Dex was sitting in Julius's seat that turned the back of the Church into a planning room. Pictures of the Lopez family tree, past crimes on file to find similar patterns as well as the entire map of Stilwater, and closed off roads and avenues the police took precedence on.

"Ho-ly shit, Ghetto Webster actually got his hands dirty." Johnny spoke in shock.

"Guess I did since your ass is still walkin'." Dex replied.

"Are you good, hermano?" Armando asked as he nodded.

"Fuck man, I thought the Carnales don't travel down East." A.J. said stretching his back.

"My guess is that Alejandro made a deal with the Rollerz." Armando brought up.

"How'd you come upon that? I've been looking at past history with the Rollerz and they don't seem keen on having the Carnales blowing up their shit."

"I saw him and Joseph Price walking together before I passed out. Lopez could've shot him, but he didn't."

"You think they're joining in the fight at Sunnyvale too?" Johnny asked Julius.

"Price ain't stupid. If they formed a partnership, it's temporary." He replied looking around the room. "Where the hell is D?"

The echoes of his voice reached back to Tyreese and Scott as soon as they ran inside the Church to find the others. They called out Julius's name only to find the other Saints in their meeting. Both appeared ragged, exhausted, and very nervous, especially Scott.

"Good, y'all are here. We got back as soon as we could." Tyreese said.

"Monroe's on a fucking rampage, man. Why can't he get laid like the rest of us?" Scott asked.

"Homie, you see the way he waddles like a fucking duck at the PD? I'm surprised he had one marriage out of the four he divorced from." A.J. said.

Julius spoke up, "Give 'em a minute to catch their breaths. Dex, you have any narrow routes we can use; somewhere the 5-0 can't catch us?"

"From what I can tell, Monroe got Palation and the rest of the North Side barricaded." He said pointing on the map. "If we're gonna lend King a hand, the only road into the Projects would be the old West 18th causeway that leads into that old police station we held up in '89."

"That's a no go." A.J. brought up. "I was driving along for a block party Shivington was having during the neighborhood's re-opening. No doubt the one-timers will be setting up shop there too. It's also a good spot for a surprise attack from the west side of the Projects. If Lopez and the Rollerz are workin' together, Ben and the Vice Kings won't be able to hold Sunnyvale for long."

"I can send a few purple decoys to stir up some trouble for the feds." He suggested while circling an area on the map. "We come through the intersection here on Dharmody Street. That gives us four blocks to set up an attack perimeter."

"Shit, knowing Ben and his grudge against Lopez, this fight isn't going to last an hour." Julius retorted with frustration. "It will take us right 'till sundown. We're gonna need an exit strategy fast."

"Rorsky's Tavern; it's an old pub my friend Tommy and I use to hang out in before I met you guys. It's got thick walls to make a last stand." Johnny said.

As much as Julius wanted to have a stiff drink in the oldest bar in Stilwater, Rorsky's was too close within the Carnales red zone. Though it wasn't surprising for Johnny igniting a second turf war in familiar territory, the only place that was the best bet for all Saints was in Old Stilwater in the Red Light District. It was one of the very few neutral grounds that haven't been taken over. Scott objected to hiding in a haunted cave underground, but the matter was settled as soon as Julius heard the other Saints show up at the Church. Looking at the small army of forty-two purple soldiers, less than half recently canonized, Julius knew he was sending them on a suicide mission in the Projects.

However, Johnny stepped up and boosted their morale by showing them the arsenal they were going to be using against the cops. A third of the crew was picked up by Monroe's men on petty felonies such as public indecency and getting a blow job on a street corner. They saw the weapons and pretty much everyone was on board giving Monroe the Montreal Screw Job he rightly deserved. Before rolling out, Julius, Armando, and A.J. stood up together before their brothers to give some last words of encouragement on warring with the Carnales.

"Listen up! Today's gonna be a long day, possibly shorter for some of you. I won't lie to y'all. This has been nearly twenty years in the making. Benjamin King and I have a history, a history that goes back before most of you were born. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't feel you were ready." Julius said before A.J. spoke up.

"Denzel Tate, Big D, he went missing after the Palation highway hit with the Rollerz. None of us can't ignore the possibility of him being…if you see him, you call me or Armando and back him up 'till we get there. That's our man out there. Let's bring him home."

"This will be a defining moment in the history of Saints Row. This day will be how Stilwater defines us. Stay together, fuck some shit up, but most of all, let's get back alive." Armando closed before they moved out.

"Let's get this shit started." Julius said.

The Projects used to be something special back in the golden days of the city. Sunnyvale Gardens most of all; it had a history of gang violence, but it also had one thing other territories didn't have in the present day: unity. It was once referred as the "backbone" of human evolvement. It had apartments and high buildings; nameless gangs and hobos lived side-by-side under one roof, defending it from the one evil that could tear it all down in a matter of hours. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't politics that destroyed the two neighborhoods, or was Ultor's personal grudge with its people, but the people themselves.

During the first days of Los Carnales takeover, the Ghetto divided up into cliques, turning apartments and crack houses into fortified bases in times of turf war. Alejandro already had his fill spilling worthless blood onto the streets, glittered its tar from those who walked on it. Eventually, he held himself back, and soon after the Projects was cleared from any red flags, the nameless gangstas went to war against themselves. For ten years, Sunnyvale and Shivington have been hanging on a thread of what they once were. Benjamin and his family firmly believed they could bring their home back to life, finish the work Alejandro tried doing a second time when the original Vice Kings took up arms.

He made it his priority to school Tony and Warren on what they were fighting for. In some hopeful way, they already brought down a tyrant from office. With the Vice Kings in full swing and ready to take a bullet for their homies, they could bring the Carnales down once and for all. He held himself along with seventeen VK's in a beaten down high-rise building overlooking all of Sunnyvale; plenty of vantage points to scope from his McManus rifle. Yellow Sedans and manual made trucks with attached turrets took perimeter in the Gardens area while ground forces and scouts went outside the Projects' borders to look for any gang activity. He turned away from the window for a second to see his dad geared up and ready to smoke some red fools.

"Hell no," Ben laughed looking at the vintage VK gear. "Baggy jean shorts and a shirt not even half your size."

"It's not always the clothes that make the man, son. It's how you represent. I represent the old Sunnyvale Gardens proudly."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't opt out. We need all the help we can get."

"My family's here. I ain't going anywhere." Eric said patting Ben's back. "Shit, look out there. I haven't seen this many V. Kings since back in the day. You, your sister, Warren, y'all made me feel hopeful again."

"This is who we are, pop." Ben said.

"Damn straight. What happens after today, don't ever stop going after your ambition. One day soon, all of Stilwater will know the name "King"."

And it was time to start acting like one he thought. Ben gave a shout to one of the scouts named Miles. A total of ten VK scouts spread through both territories to keep a close watch on any red flags sneaking into the Projects. A few of the other scouts reported they didn't see anything past the old police station; all quiet some said. Suddenly, that tune did a 180 when Warren got ahold of Ben.

He was driving along an intersection when he came across a convoy of seven red vehicles with a decked out SUV riding in front. Before Ben was able to tell him not to engage them yet, he heard gunshots going off and Warren saying, "Get at me, motherfuckers!" Ben shouted his name, but no answer. He ordered the other VK's to get into position inside the building while he tried getting ahold of Tony and Angela.

"_Ben, I'm hearing gunshots on the other end! What's going on?" _Tony asked.

"They're here! Time is now, guys. You two ride east towards the end of the Gardens and lure the red flags your way. Keep them busy 'till you get to the explosives you put on the cars. Let's light these fuckers up." Ben replied.

"_Keep yourself away from the bullets, big bro! Let's win this for our family."_ Angela said before they rolled out.

As soon as Ben had the convoy in his sights, he got to work on taking the drivers out using his rifle, getting clean headshots before Alejandro went on the offensive and stretched out to different streets. The Vice Kings down below ran with their heads held high and their weapons gripped tightly in their palms as they went to battle with the Carnales. Warren called out to Ben periodically saying he was having the time of his life. He kept hoping he wouldn't get his head shot off just because he wanted to take the first wave of them.

Tony drove towards the end of the Garden area that spanned for a good mile and a half until they reached a wide road with the cars they took from a Rollerz stronghold. They were all conveniently placed, but with four red Cadillacs on their tail, Angela took the detonator and lit the red flags like a meteor shower was brewing. Car parts and burning bodies flew up in the air and back onto solid Earth while Tony had to improvise with a Carnales road block ahead of them with an explosive surprise of their own.

"Woo, that's what I'm saying, pendejos; burn in hell!" Angela shouted seeing their cars colliding shrapnel with the red Cadillacs. "We're good back here!"

"We got another wave up ahead!" Tony said.

"Are we close to the Rim Jobs garage?"

"No, it's two blocks behind them. You're going to have to keep 'em busy while I ram their asses over."

Taking the newly made AR-50 rifle, she got on the passenger side and fired off a grenade to loosen the roadblock a bit. Tony hammered down the gas pedal and drove through them like there was no tomorrow. With their Goliath taking a beating from two rockets, they were still able to move and head on over the next couple blocks to witness a familiar scene in Angela's eyes. The old basketball courts were what started her therapy with Old Lady Martha. She never forgot how she was taken hostage by a red flag before her dad finished him off.

The fighting was everywhere; bullets flew like horizontal raindrops, causing mini rainstorms of blood on the building walls. At first, she felt like she was going to get a panic attack. Deep tone Spanish wormed her way into her head, never understood what it meant back then, but enough to know it wasn't anything good. Luckily, the panic attack lapsed and all she heard was a ringing noise in her ears. She looked up and saw Tony's lips move without knowing what he was saying, but his body language was reassuring when she looked out the window and saw they were coming up on the old Rim Jobs.

Tony got on his radio and asked, "Yo Andy, Miles, we made it to the Rim Jobs garage. Start rolling 'em out!" Not a moment too soon, the playing field crowded up a bit more when the scouts got to their departure points for Tony's diversion. Five cars revved up their engines, aiming them directly at another wave as they marched with ferocious purpose. Two seconds later, the five scouts' hauled ass away from the blast radius as Angela lit the bastards up again, causing a fireworks show that sent car shrapnel flying onto the streets, taking a few red ground forces with it. All of a sudden, their truck lost a few tires and was skidding too fast for Tony to stay on the road.

Both jumped out as the truck crashed and burned on a street corner, cutting off anymore waves riding towards the south end of the Gardens. When Tony opened his eyes, gravity impacted his head in a way he couldn't move it at all. That was when three red flags stood over him, saying "Alejandro says "Buenos noches"." One got shot in the head while the other two took shots in the gut and chest, and standing over him was Angela helping him up.

"You okay, T?" She asked.

"Hell yeah, good lookin' out." He replied grabbing his glock and shooting another two red flags trying to get up from the ground.

"There's another block with car bombs in place! It's over near the high rise complex." She said shooting.

"Ben wants us to stay the course. He and your dad got that area covered."

"It's not exactly my brother I'm worried about."

Both kept soldiering through the basketball courts, helping their Kings however they could. Miles, Andrew, and the other remaining scouts moved on ahead bringing extra ammo in backpacks to the other members. Another Cadillac came darting through the streets towards where they were when an explosion happened in the blink of an eye. They saw Warren going to town with a rocket launcher on it. He called them over as they met up and drove out of the courts to go take on some more Carnales.

"Goddamn, good thing I found y'all when I did!" Warren said.

"What took you so long, man; your piece jammed up?" He laughed.

"Man, I was out there making King proud. I iced so many red fools I lost count, ha ha! One of the scouts said Hector Lopez's convoy is gonna hit near the S.V. Docks. It's time we introduce ourselves."

"I could kill some more. Don't steal my targets this time." Tony joked with him.

"Once we clear the docks, I got a surprise waitin' at the high-rise building. Alejandro won't know what hit him." Angela said reloading her rifle.

"Are you tryin' to one-up me, girl?" Warren asked tossing a grenade at another red Cadillac.

"You can hold the detonator if you want."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see."

The streets of Stilwater turned into motes of police sirens flashing for everyone to see. Martial Law was heard through a radio announcement by Monroe, saying every district from the airport to the Projects were cut off by SWAT teams and "honorable men putting their lives on the line" he said. Dex took refuge behind the old police station in Shivington as he guided Armando, A.J., Ty and Scott on taking the back roads to find Denzel. Since becoming an influential yet reasonable Lieutenant of the Row, he took over seven Friendly Fire stores as well as putting Gat on protection detail at Rorsky's Tavern. All four bounced information off each other on where he might be, but answers didn't come easy when the Rollerz were riding on a highway west of the Marina.

They managed to stay hidden for the most part, but both vehicles were thinking why would the Rollerz be out causing an already stirred up shit storm? As they moved further and further into the city, the 5-0 had their hands full engaging the blue flags while they slipped away unseen. Their hearts were beating inside their throats at that point. Every street corner and intersection they passed, they didn't know which asshole was going to pop out. After twenty minutes of frantically passing the hang out spots they could think of, they started thinking of rare places Denzel would go. All of a sudden, the thinking part was left to Armando and A.J. as they took over the wheels while the two purple brothers engaged three SUVs chasing after them.

"_This is fucking ridiculous!"_ A.J. shouted frustratingly over his radio.

"He has to be out there somewhere, hermano!" Armando replied making a sharp turn while seeing a blue SUV flipping over.

"_These bitches don't let up!" _Scott said.

"Did you two go to Bellie Jellies off of 38th?"

"We tried there, bro. He wasn't there." Tyreese retorted.

"_We spent the last four hours going up and down the blocks lookin' for him. We were hoping he was at the hospital with y'all."_

"_We're running out of road, homies! Just give us a random place to look." _A.J. demanded.

Something clicked in Scott's head when he asked, _"Didn't he say he had a meeting with the owner of No Holds Barred next week? We could try there."_

"Shit, alright we'll head there then." Armando said getting out his radio. "Hey, we think D is at No Holds Barred. Angelo and Victor might have kidnapped him."

"How the hell did that happen? Guy's a walking tank!" Tyreese expressed shooting at the other SUVs.

"_That explains why none of us have seen 'em yet. Julius is in trouble so I'm heading for the S.V. Docks." _

"Stay safe out there. We'll be in Sunnyvale soon." Armando said.

"_Don't worry, D. There's no way in hell we're lettin' those pendejos win." _A.J. promised.

When it came to the cage at No Holds Barred, there was no such thing as winning or losing. In the present day, fighters would do whatever it took to win with the audience lending them a hand once in a while. Those days were cake walks compared to the Greaser Pits in the mid-1920s. It was a brutal time period for strong men wanting to make a name for themselves so they can keep the lights on in their house. It was required as the final stepping stone before gaining a slot for the cage match. Built like a wide arena, fighters had to prove their worth by playing dirty, and when it came to Angelo and Victor, playing dirty seemed the only way to get Denzel to talk.

With each, bone crunching hit Victor landed on his face and stomach, he discovered a pattern to the young heir's madness; all pertaining back to his father. Since taking the Mayor seat, it became no secret in Stilwater the Lopez family had their share of internal conflicts with one another, with Hector and Manuel being men of reason whereas Angelo was a child of action. Six years of crumbling Carnales rule at every turn, Denzel destroying fifteen drug transports coming out of Stoughton and East Stilwater, Angelo couldn't for the life of him understand why he wouldn't cough up his father's bloody Colombian history. Being leaked to the city was the last nerve he had against the Saints.

Denzel spat out some blood, chuckled in pain when Angelo demanded, "You really want to die, don't you? This is your grave, ese. No one is going to miss you here."

"You can beat my face in all you want, cocksucker." He said coughing. "I ain't spilling on my boys…"

Just as Victor was about to throw the next punch, Angelo stopped him and said, "You have a kid on the way. You're willing to risk her life out of loyalty to your broken Row? My father gives you people too much credit; never gave me enough credit. I do all the work…" He said as Victor gave him a look. "_We_ do all the work, and all he does is praise my brother. Do you have siblings? We were a dysfunctional bunch until my father kept us in line, taught us the drug business. Hearing old war stories of him and Manuel from Colombia, that's what I wanted, to serve my people the way he did. He was a lot of things, but going crazy and killing civilians without a reason?"

"Padilla, a continuación, toma la caída." Victor replied.

(Padilla then took the fall for it.)

"Si, in the end we got where we were because it was the only way we were raised. Intimidation, violence, and fear; doesn't get much simpler than that." He continued before pulling out a Beretta and pressed it against his skull. "I'm done fucking around, pendejo. I'll kill your girl first, gut out her unborn child, feed it to the wolves; then I'll burn down Saints Row and all your "boys" in it. Last time, who leaked the information before my father's farewell address?"

Denzel looked him right in the eyes, albeit a little dizzy, and replied, "I've been devoted to the Row for over ten years. 'Member Shivington; Victor does. I said no matter how many times y'all beat us back, we always come back for more. That's who we are; never giving up. You got two choices: you let me out of these chains and I kill Victor once and for all, or you let me out and I break your neck 'fore I tango with him. Better make the wise choice, asshole. You threatened my family once. I'll kill a million red flags to make sure they're safe."

Through the bloodied, black and blue face Angelo was listening to, he merely saw a prideful man with a death wish just aching to be granted. He slowly pulled his gun away from his forehead and turned to Victor. That was when his left eye twitched when he told him to go fetch his "tools". Denzel was thigh deep in old, dark sand as he put his biceps to work on breaking the chains himself. But to no avail, the throbbing headache and the anger causing a feverish feeling forced him to wait until the time truly presented itself. That time just kept prolonging the inevitable when a large number of Carnales members formed a wide circle above them, aiming their rifles at Denzel as he kept his one good eye open to strike at Victor.

The heart of Sunnyvale Gardens took up arms against the red pendejos as its World War III: Ghetto Edition pursued into the early afternoon. Eighteen blocks between there and Shivington had opposing flags tearing away at each other either by bullets or running people over with their cars. Those who were unable to get out of the Projects were dealt accordingly by Alejandro while Padilla set his sights at whatever was firing at him. As for the Saints, twenty-three stood in Shivington alongside the Vice Kings, handling a surprise attack by the Rollerz while the other twenty went toe-to-toe with Hector and Arianna at the Docks. The entire battle escalated in a way Monroe's Precinct was taking the ass beating of their lives.

One cop after another, SWAT teams stemming the bloody tide on West 18th, if anyone were to be left standing at the end, it would be a damned miracle Monroe said to himself pushing further into the High-Rise complex. Things got complicated with cops jumping into Benjamin's line of sight. His dad and the Kings stood their ground trying to prevent any sneaky ground forces slipping into the rusty, broken glass windows of the building. Looking at the sun, Eric assumed they've been throwing down into the afternoon. But his main concern was finding out where Lopez was hiding.

"Kings, any of y'all got a fix on El Jefe?" Eric asked over his radio.

Ben shouted, "The 5-0 is piling up over here, pop. Lopez isn't stupid enough to shoot Monroe in the face!"

"Yeah, no shit." He replied before seeing a Carnale firing off a grenade at their position. "Get your asses down!"

"Get the fuck back!" Ben followed along taking cover.

The explosive radius sent all twelve VK's on their backs. In the smoky aftermath, one had half his face missing, crying in agony while the other had his entire right leg burned to a crisp. Smoke and foundation caused Ben's throat to dry up somewhat, seeing his father up against the wall; unscathed from his point of view. Ben got up and had each member get the other on his feet. He then ran over to him and said, "Pop, pop look at me. You're okay. We got to move."

One of the members limped on over with his radio out and said, "Boss, you gonna wanna hear this."

"_Get the fuck offa me! You know who I am, motherfucker?!"_

"That's Miles!" Ben said out loud.

"_What you are is a misguided turd that needs to be scraped off the planet."_

"Goddamn it, Alejandro…" Eric said feeling pissed off.

"_You can't kill all of us! Benjamin mutha-fuckin King will know what you did, and mow yo' ass down."_

"_By the time he arrives, your corpses will burn in the name of "Carnale". Get in there!" _Alejandro said, hearing a thumping sound on the other end. _"Benjamin and Eric King, 25 years it has been since my men decimated your worthless home. You have precisely ten minutes to get to where I am if you are to salvage your dark elements in yellow. Not to worry though. Once I finish here, I will finish what my men started on your precious sister. She will wish her head be severed before they're through."_

"You're dead, asshole! You ain't takin' us out this time!" Ben shouted.

"Mark my words. You'll be burning in your personal hell when my family is through with yours." Eric said putting his radio in his back pocket.

The Carnales broke inside the building and ran up the stairs, kicking down one door after another killing any yellow flag standing in their way. Ben and Eric raised their rifles and gunned their way out before grabbing a Compton vehicle with the top down and flew out of the area running over four red flags and shooting any still standing. The entire neighborhood was shaping up to be a déjà vu occurrence with so many bullet casings on the ground and bodies lined against the walls with their brains shot out. Ben clenched the wheel tighter and kept his eyes forward, building up a rage inside he couldn't wait to set off on Lopez. Eric on the other hand was numb to it all. Granted, they had the actual numbers he thought, but he couldn't help but feel they were going to lose again if they didn't end him right then and there.

After five blocks of maneuvering around dead bodies on the streets, Eric felt Lopez's death would be fitting by one man. He turned his head over to Ben with determined eyes and sweating on the back of his head and plainly spoke, "Once we find him, you drop me off and don't look back, you understand me?"

"You can't be serious right now. No, we're taking him down together." Ben said.

"As much as I agree with you, Sunnyvale needs you more."

"What're you talking about?!"

"All these years, I wanted to kill him for what he did to our family, our home. Look after your crew, son. They need you; your sister most of all."

"Stow that fucking talk, dad. Jesus! We all gettin' outta this alive."

"When Alejandro gave me the tailoring job up in Nob Hill, he called it a truce. I called it his first mistake. I put my ear to the ground for any secrets he had, helped you and Julius prevent any surprise attacks here. I know you two ain't talking much these days, but regardless of what side you're on, you two will always be brothers in my eyes."

"Pop…" Ben said trying to stop him.

"Son, you and Angie are the best goddamn things in my life." Eric said holding back the tears in his eyes. "You two are gonna beat back the Carnales, and anything standing in your way. Build, watch, and act. Never forget who you are, and never give up who you're going to be."

Their father-son moment clung onto the silence that ensued as they drove around different blocks to find Alejandro. Ben made a mental play-by-play on what was going on in the background of the call; acoustics and the sounds of chairs tumbling over when Miles was shoved to the ground wasn't much of a giveaway. Being Sunnyvale bred, he had a vivid memory of all the hiding spots the Carnales might have taken hostages for some Colombian style interrogation. There was the Sea Roses Pub. As West 18th branched out and gained a rep, the Cobras frequented there, making it the roughest place to be after hours. Both bounced names off each other while the pub clicked in Eric's head to be the last place he was at before gunshots went off in the first turf war.

He was meeting an old friend of their family before a silver hollow point spattered the bar counter and the wall behind it red. It was located all the way in Shivington where the cops set their sights on dealing with the Rollerz. Driving along the way, they saw a purple car flying past them, swerving left and right across the wreckage of the town before seeing a young, college looking guy running towards them. He waved his hands in a tiresome form to get them to stop.

"Please, you gotta help me!" The guy panted, getting their attention.

"Are you alright, homie; where'd you come from?" Ben asked allowing him to hop in the car.

"Two violent old dudes jumped the bus I was in heading out of the Projects. There had to be like…thirteen of us along with gang members in yellow." He explained as he stared at Ben's clothes.

"Whoa hold up! These old dudes, were they wearing red?" Ben asked.

"Y-yeah, I think they have some of your guys."

"How did you escape?" Eric asked

"They were arguing something in Spanish. It sounded heated so I slipped out a back door and didn't look back. I can take you two there, but you gotta get me out of the Ghetto. I got a family in Saints Row. Born and raised."

"What's your name, son?" Eric said.

"Marshall. Marshall Win…" He said as Eric cut him off.

He took drastic measures into his hands by grabbing Ben's wheel and turning it until the car came to a complete stop. He screamed at both of them to get out, but out of the blue he grabbed Ben and embraced him to what seemed to be his last time doing so. His voice broke up and said, "You're the future of this city, son. Give your sister a big hug and kiss for me, ya hear?" He then looked over at Marshall, "Where are they at?" 2310 Harrows Blvd: in the same area as the old Sunnyvale Loft.

Feeling hot and internally bothered, Ben couldn't think straight looking at all the territorial damage burning around him. At first, Marshall couldn't understand what was going on or why the Carnales were attacking the Projects of all places. Ben took a knee and stared at the ground with six bullet casings lying there, seeing part of his reflection in the blood. Trying to think of what to do next, Marshall stepped in and tried talking to him.

"I take it that was your old man? I'm sorry, hope he makes it to the Loft." He said while Ben didn't utter a word. "Shit went topsy turvy so fast, my heart's still trying to catch up to my chest, you know?"

"Sunnyvale Docks; there should still be boats if the Saints didn't blow 'em up. Fuckin' Julius…just couldn't stay out of it, could you?"

"Sounds like a plan." He agreed. "E.S. has a dock over there too. Just get me to a boat and I'll do the rest."

The nightmares were already starting to flare as ghosts of the first war came up and smiled sadistically next to Ben. He looked to his right and saw a red flag with half his teeth chipped off and not much of a fighting chance to make it, if at all. All his glazing eyes saw was said ghost laughing at him, telling him he failed to save his home…again. Ben snapped out of it when he put a bullet in the bastard's head, causing Marshall to jump a bit when he said, "Stay right on my ass, player. Can you handle a sidearm?"

"My old man was in Nam, taught me how to respect the weapon." He replied picking up a glock off the ground.

"Let's move."

Casualties rose and chances of victory for the Kings' side wasn't looking too hot. Those who were kept on the move noticed the Saints were lending a hand against the Rollerz and the cops. They raised their guns to them, but a few recognized them as survivors of the first Shivington attack and were trying to make difference with a different flag on their backs. In times like these, allies came in small packages, but they alone had enough sense not to shoot back at the Kings and continued to drive the Rollerz into a bottleneck at West 18th. On the other side of the Projects laid the Sunnyvale Docks; a small and secure port some of the more upper level drug dealers do their business deals.

However, the only gun business that piece of the town was getting was sending abled yellow flags into an early grave, courtesy of Hector and Arianna. They kept a strong foothold in the area while Julius, Dex, and Johnny repelled some of the hurt back on them. All three had their backs against one another making a last stand until Julius saw an opening for an escape route. They ran for cover behind a red Cadillac that was already blown up to catch their breaths for ten seconds. On his radio, Dex kept getting static distress calls from the Stilwater PD about pushing further into West 18th. Deputy Chief Monroe silenced the "moronic bellyaching" of his officers by saying he had a nice surprise for all three gang factions in the area.

Julius took a quick peak from cover and almost got his head blown off by a red trench coat sniper of sorts. He shouted, "We gotta press the attack somehow!"

"Why you think I'm here?" Johnny asked landing four shots each in two red flags.

"Shivington ain't lookin' too hot, Julius. We gotta help them!"

"Princess Dex is right. I'll provide y'all some cover fire."

"We're not leavin' you alone here, Johnny." Julius replied looking up again and nearly took another sniper shot. "Fuck! There's gotta be a vehicle that still works."

"Boats are a bust. We'll be open targets if we get on one!" Dex brought up.

"I think I saw Hector's car by that storage locker where they keep the fish." Julius pointed in the distance. "You two give me cover fire while I make a run for it."

All three readied themselves on the count of three. After Dex said "1" Johnny got up and out of cover and began spraying bullets all over the place with his AK. Dex and Julius hauled ass like never before until a loud shot was fired and hit Dex's left ankle, leaving him falling hard on his chest. He darted his eyes at all directions of the Carnales hell bent on taking the docks at any costs. Just before he was able to grab his glock, Johnny stood firmly at his right and continued firing while Julius got him on his feet trying to get to Hector's car.

He looked up a third time and quickly noticed the sniper wasn't at his post anymore. A massive shift in the gun battle turned for the Saints' favor when a yellow car rode in, running over five red flags in the process. Warren, Tony, and Angela got out and went in toting weapons while Hector ordered what was left of his men to engage them. Pretty soon, twenty-five yellow flags came into the docks with the intent on driving the enemy from their home. The three Saints had one chance to escape. By the time they were halfway to the car, it got blown up via grenade launcher.

Turning their heads, they saw a spitting image of the same Assassin in red they saw in Shivington when Armando encountered her. She then stood before them from a distance with a red bandana covering her mouth and an eye piercing look when Dex said, "Holy shit. That's the bitch that shot me?"

"It's your call, boss." Johnny aimed his rifle at her.

He put his left on Johnny's shoulder and replied, "Dex and I will find another way out. Deprive that bitch of her life."

"My fucking pleasure…." He said with a crazy grin on his face. Both walked to each other as Arianna threw her gun aside and cracked her knuckles for some close quarters combat. Johnny got confused at first, but conveniently at the same time his trigger finger was getting tired and wanted to spice things up a bit. He had a childhood friend who was good at martial arts and street fighting so he decided to put both skills to the test. She went first shot as she kicked the left side of his face, leaving him turned around for a second.

He shifted back and his right hook was blocked by the immovable strength of her biceps covering her face. Her feet pushed against the ground before she kneed him in his chest and lifted his shirt collar, and threw him three feet away. He landed on his left knee before she ran and jumped forward to kick him out again. He quickly grabbed her leg mid-air and just when he was about to strike, took a second kick from her other steel-toed foot. Both got up and faced each other, and got to use some slick street fighting skills while Arianna relied more on agility than strength.

Being friends with Tommy Kwong over the years showed Johnny that discipline and anticipation were keys to winning any fight. However, in his current state of mind, he was out of discipline and just wanted to win no matter what. Arianna kept him on the ropes while the battle of Sunnyvale raged all around them. Each block, each attempt to fire a weapon became futile during a cycle of finishing moves that left Johnny more pissed off than focused. After a grueling round of fighting and dodging the red and yellow traffic flying between each other, both were on opposite sides feeling the heat of the day closing in on all three gangs.

Arianna took a minute to catch her breath as Johnny did the same when he called out to her, "Never seen a woman fight that way before! Who'd have thought the drug king's wife can throw a punch?"

"The Lopez family never favors weaklings." She said standing up. "You belong in this city. It's tailor made for a gun toting psychopath. That's what makes everyday exciting."

"You ain't really sane, are ya? I like it." He smiled. "Are you up for a second round?"

"One question: Saints Row is a shelf life. Your leader is sloppy, even forced four members to drop out because they got high. How long do _you_ think you'll last?"

"I don't give a shit, lady. I was bred to do one thing in this town: kill motherfuckers who stand in my way."

Lifting the right side of her trench coat slightly, she revealed 17" of stainless steel in the shape of a machete with a firm pakkawood handle pulling out of its sheath. She raised her weapon forward and said, "Whenever you're ready…" That was another peculiar moment Johnny experienced. The women he used to be around with came from the stripper pole, mango glittered kind with a very small circle of street fighting sisters he used to know as well. Fighting her was both an experience and unpredictable at the same time. Not even a second before they continued, she threw a knife with a speed that went straight into Johnny's shooting hand before he was able to pick up his rifle. His entire arm almost got whiplashed from the strike, but without hesitating he pulled it out and improvised until some kind of retreat happened.

Other parts of the Projects carried on the never ending fire fight into the late afternoon when a sudden heat wave struck all flags. Vice Kings were sweating through their colors, firing at any running blue flag making a run for it. Monroe sent the SWAT team to pursue what was left of the "snot nosed, greedy pricks" he labeled them while shockingly to the Kings' eyes leaving them alone. The turf war started dialing down from the main areas such as the Gardens and around the Sunnyvale Loft, leaving the conflict's core at the docks.

On the quieter side of the gang war, Alejandro and Padilla kept hostages of random civilians and a few VK scouts so they can dish out some old school executions of their own. The Sunnyvale Loft was built like a fortress, a place rather fitting in Lopez's eyes to make a last stand. Padilla couldn't agree more he thought, having a whole other reason why he picked the place in particular. Hostages were getting riled up and tried to squirm out of their restraints. Padilla saw to it by bashing two skulls in by the butt of his Desert Eagle. When he turned and saw Alejandro, all he saw was a secret objective too easy to accomplish.

They were on the sixth floor of the broken, termite infested Loft overlooking the last pockets of proxy battles that were left out of the main fight. He lit a cigar and looked out the window without any foresight of a surprise attack.

"¿Realmente piensa Héctor va a atraer a los Reyes del Vicio a ese lugar?"

(You really think Hector is going to lure the Vice Kings to this place?)

"Usted desaprueba; no puedo decir que lo culpa, viejo amigo."

(You disapprove; can't say I blame you, old friend.)

"Yo nunca pensé que tan cruel... ¿por qué?!" Padilla asked cocking his gun.

(I never thought you be so cruel…why?!)

"Ese es el precio de la guerra, Enrique." He said letting out of a puff and faced him. "No importa quién está en el fuego cruzado. La guerra nunca terminó en Colombia, pero hoy quiero decir adiós. Sé que mi Valencia, esperando por mí."

(That's the price of war, Enrique. It does not matter who is in the cross fire. Our war never ended in Colombia, but today I say goodbye. I know my Valencia will be waiting for me.)

Padilla aimed his gun at his old war buddy as Lopez gave him a nod of confirmation to pull the trigger. That was when they heard a buzzing noise coming from somewhere. Padilla's phone was going off; it didn't take long for Lopez to put it together. A minute after, he lowered his phone slowly like he was going to throw up, but that wasn't the only problem. Gunshots were going off below them, getting louder and closer to where they were. Padilla looked at him with uncertainty and found his own way out of the Loft, leaving the hostages to be dealt with.

No Holds Barred was dead ahead with six cop cars and four Rollerz vehicles left in ruin in the rear view. Armando and the others eagerly zoomed through the parking lot and ran inside with guns at the ready looking for the entrance to the Greaser Pits. If there was one thing the old foundation was known for was the smell of old sweat and molasses. The group split up into two and called out Denzel's name, hearing the echoes of their own voices filling the air. After a few minutes of frantically running into every locked door in the arena, Armando got A.J. on the radio and said, "Where the fuck is he?! I can't find the entrance anywhere on our end."

"_I'm not seeing shit over here either; the fuck can he be?!" _

"_Didn't Channel 6 do a news spread 'bout closing off the Pits a few years back? Cage fighters were complainin' about hearing ghosts in the locker room."_ Tyreese said.

"Yeah, they cemented the place down, but the guys working on the seal were rumored never seen again. It might still be here."

"_And the octagon in the center used to be an old elevator leading to the final stepping stone of their training."_

"_Then that's where we'll go. Hang on, D!" _A.J. shouted.

The naked eye can determine the Greaser Pits as an old landmark crushed under the weight of new age cage fighting. The bloodshot eye of Denzel saw something else. In Saints Row, he didn't always agree with how Julius ran the crew. Some days, it's a territory patrol on foot or vehicle, others landed in a drive by shooting whenever forbidden turf has been crossed. East Stilwater was its own community. U.S. soldiers and Jeremiah Winslow's knowledge of the music world forged a neutrality agreement from Ultor that no gangs were to enter the neighborhood by any means.

Angelo wasn't much of an outsider as he led the Carnales to believe. Like Denzel taking out drug transports going into E.S., he kept going to make his mark in the Lopez fold. Some would say it was fate that tossed both of them in rock bottom, but it didn't matter to Angelo. He had the killer instinct his father had in his prime and demonstrated it against the purple giant with crowbars and rusty metal pipes. Although Denzel had the piss beat out of him before their confrontation took the old sand, he had enough sense to pace himself going up against him and Victor. The shooters overlooking the fight kept things interesting by shooting near his feet, and almost blowing him to pieces with the occasional grenade.

Two against one; at that point Denzel had no intention in getting out. He wanted this, the thrill of retribution to the bloody mess Victor left behind on the battle of 3rd Street in Mission Beach. Metal pipes clanged, portrayed as sloppy swordplay between him and Victor while locking weapons with Angelo. All three huddled together with sweat and blood flowing down their faces while struggling to break out. Denzel seized the moment by kicking the back of Angelo's shin, followed by taking the sharp end of the pipe and stuck it in the meat of his rib cage.

Denzel then shoved him to the side while Victor ran up and pinned him to the ground with a grizzly look on his face. Both saw Angelo bleeding in agony for four seconds before another surprise attack came a knocking above. Gunshots went off against Armando and the others. Denzel licked his lips and said, "What's a matter, puto; I ain't got a lot left in me. It shoulda been you and me. Angelo got in the way and look what happened?"

"¿Qué demonios está pasando de allí?" Victor stood up with pipe in hand.

(What the hell is going on up there?)

"The Row is callin' me home." He replied as Victor gave him a surprised look. "Yeah, I worked on my Spanish smoking y'all asses for six years. Ha, ha…you can kill me, but you'll never kill Saints Row."

Victor raised his pipe and screamed before getting a foot in the groin and his face slammed soon after, knocking him on his ass feeling dizzy. Denzel got on one knee, hoisting himself up with his pipe firm in both hands. He spared a look at Angelo and whispered, "Don't worry…you'll be next, bitch. I've been waitin' for this fuckin' day to finish you for good; eye for an eye. But in this case I'll settle a heart to heart. Don't worry, Renee. Both of you will see me soon."

The Pits consisted of bullets going off and shooters falling to their deaths. A.J. clocked in a headshot off a sniper before all four Saints saw Denzel and what he was about to do. It got quiet; tensions rose in all of them until a random gunshot went off below. Angelo shot Denzel in the spine, leaving the Saints cold and still. Denzel looked at his brothers with blood gurgling from his mouth.

Next thing they knew…Victor's rusty pipe drove horizontally into Denzel's throat, ripping out his larynx as he bled profusely on the sand. No thinking was done on the Saints as they grabbed the Carnales' weapons and fired off every round trying to hit Victor. None of them were able to focus, especially A.J. firing blindly and not getting any lucky shots. They made their way down to ground level to find their brother sinking into the blood soaked sand. They all worked together to get him on his back. The gruesome image of a man with his throat removed churned Ty and Scott's stomachs.

A.J. screamed at the top of his lungs, weeping as Armando tried to calm him down. Looking to his right, he saw another puddle of blood. When he went over, he noticed a blood trail leading to the exit of the Pits. He looked up and said, "Ty, Scott, get over here!"

"There's no sign of Victor or that piece of shit Angelo." Scott said.

"Whose blood is that?" Ty asked him.

"My guess would be Angelo; pendejo's a bleeder." He replied looking at the trail. "I noticed D sticking a rusty piece of metal into his side."

"What do you want us to do, brother?" Ty asked.

"They're dead, you feel me? End of discussion." Scott said.

"Follow the blood trail down that tunnel. It should lead you out of the Pits, comprende? Victor's not quick on his feet so he can't have gone that far."

"Whatever you need, man. We got you." Scott agreed before heading out.

Dead bodies weren't exactly a life changing viewpoint for the Saints. They either see it happen, or they dish it out to prevent innocent people from paying the price. Seeing Denzel the way he did left him weak in the knees and couldn't bear to see A.J. grieving over him. He took a deep, uneasy breath as he walked over to see what he wanted to do next, but they both knew seeing a friend and original member of the Row was harder to bear.

Daylight started running out in the Projects with Police flashers more than making up for the lack of sun. Benjamin and Marshall drove their way through the body and bullet infested jungle and speared it into the docks where a few boats were left undamaged. All three gangs were making their last stand. Arianna showed her prowess by cutting down whoever came at her while Hector, Johnny and the Saints kept trying to push back each other for absolute control. A few of the Vice Kings noticed him and were screaming his name, but at the same time confused on where he was going. Ben went for any pot shots he could take to even the odds between both parties. As soon as Marshall jumped on the speeding boat he said with gratitude, "I owe you one, brother; anything you need!"

"I appreciate it. Just get back to E.S. in one piece, alright?" Ben insisted.

He turned around and saw in the distance a couple of 5-0 cruisers speeding towards the docks. Warren saw him immediately and shouted for his attention. He then shot gunned a red flag and told him to rally the remaining VK's back to the Gardens so they can get some breathing room from Monroe's ego. Ben provided cover fire as the remaining twenty VK's made their hasty retreat when he saw a charred vehicle getting shot to death with Julius taking cover. Going against his better judgment, he ran through the thick of the battle with cruisers flying in from behind him and almost getting clipped by one along the way.

By the time he got there, Julius ran out of ammo with four red flags pointing their rifles at his chest. One by one went down with holes in their stomach. When the last one got half his face blown off, Julius saw a friend he had not seen for a long time.

"Benjamin!" He said with relief.

"Ran outta ammo again, eh Jules?" He asked pulling him up. "Why the fuck did you come here?"

"Shit, man, Sunnyvale is my home too. I know this won't change things between us…"

"It doesn't." Ben spoke plainly. "I have my street family, and you have yours."

"Look out!"

Ben got into a scuffle with Hector. Hector knocked the gun from his hand before getting head butted and shoved on the ground with his life being choked out of him. Suddenly, Ben got knocked a few inches away and grabbed his knife as a last attempt to finish him once and for all. Arianna crept up behind him before another gunshot went through her shoulder. Hector didn't think twice. He ran over to help his wife as the police got out and went in full force for arrests.

Both Jules and Ben looked forward and saw Angela taking the shot along with Warren and Tony kicking ass in the background. Both breathed a sigh of relief before parting ways for every man for himself. Julius ran back to another abandoned car where he left Dex. He had anger in his eyes while holding the radio. Julius took it and asked, "Armando, guys, talk to me. Is D okay?"

"_Big D is dead. A.J. can't even move after what happened. Shit got turned sideways, Jules."_

"Fuckin' shit," Julius shouted with anger, almost kicking the car door off its hinges. "God no…"

"Scott and Ty found a blood trail where Angelo and Victor made their escape. We'll find them, man." Dex assured him. "I'll even let Johnny stab 'em both."

"_It's gonna take us a little bit, ese. You should be here…Jules?"_

"They're at the Greaser Pits just below the fighting arena." Dex brought up. "Gat and I will lock shit down with the other Saints."

Dex handed him the radio and gave a shout, "Everybody, get the hell out of the Projects and lay low until I give the word. This turf war is over…"

They got up and moved out of sight before Monroe's surly, beady eyes detected them. The Projects became quieter and quieter; gunshots and explosions were heard sparsely at the Sunnyvale Loft where two patriarchs on opposing sides confronted each other for the first time in 25 years. Alejandro leaned over on the base of the window, smoking his cigar with a bottle of some very exquisite alcohol resting next to him. Eric found himself in a predicament. Five red flags under Padilla's command had handguns pressed against the hostages' heads while others were trying to sneak away. One hostage got up and ran towards Eric before he got hit three times in front of him.

He raised his rifle up and aimed it at the pendejos shooting innocent people. Alejandro turned around without a care in his eyes and said, "Do you hear that, Eric? The second Sunnyvale War is concluded. Tell me, which side do you think owned the day?"

"Hmph, like you have to ask." He said aiming his at him.

"Put your gun down, have a drink with me." He said holding the bottle. "There's no reason for these people to die out of foolish pride."

"Pride ain't got anything to do with it, Lopez. My son is alive, and so is my baby girl. We survivors, you see? You couldn't kill us 25 years ago, and now the Vice Kings own Sunnyvale as it should be. Your time is over, asshole."

"Ever so confident…" He replied pulling out a Desert Eagle and shot a Carnale in the chest.

The last four Carnales standing was taken aback by what Lopez just did. However, it didn't last very long when they aimed their Mac-10s and rifles at him, screaming in Spanish with nervous trigger fingers all around. With quick precision, gunshots went off, but the only ones that penetrated flesh were the ones coming out Lopez's gun. Eric was stunned for a second, seeing an execution in the blink of an eye not done to the Kings was a breath of fresh air that made him both relieved and sick to his stomach. Eric shouted at the others to get out of the Loft while they still could. Miles, Andrew, and the Scouts that were still alive gave him a nod and bid him good luck. Lopez then lowered his weapon and went back to where the bottle was.

He raised it to Eric and said, "These were Padilla's guys; not very bright. I claimed this bottle during the Colombian Conflict. _Aguardiente: _the taste of nectar and sugarcane gliding down your throat…no taste more glorious. One sip I took from this bottle; _one_. It was all I needed to get out of La Violencia alive. You think you have beaten us, and your son and daughter most likely did, but as old as we get, we can still drink to their future."

Eric saw blood dripping out from the left side of Alejandro's waist as well as his lower stomach. His eyes widened and looked up at him with the subtle thrill of victory coming his way soon.

"Seems you're fading, "ese". Your heart of stone is oozing cold blood from its cracks." Eric said.

"Ha, I knew there was a reason…I took pity on you back then. You had a way with words, Eric." He replied holding out the bottle. "Would you do the honors?"

He kept his weapon on him as he walked over to open up the top. The smell was like an alcoholic gust of wind that almost knocked him on his back. It smelled delicious for the most part. He held it up to his mouth and gave Lopez a look before he said, "No poison. I'd never desecrate a good bottle." He took a swig before handing it back.

"Shit, this stuff's not bad." He chuckled smacking his lips.

"I took it off a supply cart that was being attacked by Paramilitary troops. December 21st, 1967: a damn fine year for Le diable de verre (the devil's drink). It saved my life. It's weird. I never showed this bottle to anyone, not even my own sons. Hector resents me, Angelo…" He spoke with a tear coming down his right eye. "Carajo…I failed them. I thought I was doing the right thing taking the Mayor seat, legalizing the Lopez name. I just made things worse. When Saints Row took up arms against us that should've been a clear sign for me to step in."

"Where's this sob story going?" Eric asked feeling annoyed.

"I cannot take back the trauma my men inflicted on your children and your home. But you sitting here with me, sharing drink of victory proves you are a better man than I. Thank you, Eric…"

"Thank you…?" He asked getting riled up. "Is that all you have to say after murdering my friends, nearly killing my daughter?! The Stoughton cargo in '88…the Shivington slaughter in '89…all of it? No, your ass doesn't get to be sorry."

"Think about your next move, Eric." He insisted with the gun pressed on his forehead. "I'm bleeding out. The Carnales won't come back for me. I know it."

"…Then you'll die alone." He concluded when suddenly a clicking sound was heard.

Squeezing the trigger never felt oh so satisfying to Eric doing the real honors. But that feeling immediately subsided when a clicking sound came from his shotgun. He pulled the trigger another two times while Lopez said, "I had that same problem too." Out of nowhere, Lopez pulled out a knife he had in his back pocket and drove it inside Eric's chest three times as blood flowed out of his mouth. Lopez held him close to his left ear, "Stilwater will crush your son and his Vice Kings just as they did me. In the end, it's who we are: murderers, drug dealers, thieves; it all comes back around."

Eric's palpable heartbeat slowed down until he couldn't hear it anymore. He then knocked him on the ground with his blood literally on Lopez's hands. After 40 years of climbing out of the bloody battlefields in Colombia with his sons in tow, to being a ruthless gang boss of Los Carnales, all his efforts came to fruition. As a man of specific means to live, he always looked to the future; retiring to Brazil and living out his last days partying like he was thirty years younger. Being a man of old age on the other hand, his look to the horizon was a narrow path, and within that path came with dead brothers, two sons resenting him and who he's become.

All that was left was a run-down loft and a dead father he felt little to no remorse for. Every instinct in his brain told him to get up and move before anyone found him, but as he tried to stand up the gut shot wound he was suffering brought him down, making him feel cold with a few short breaths left. Right then, he grabbed his bottle, twisted off the top, and began chugging it like there was no tomorrow.

Benjamin, Angela, and Warren rode back to the Gardens while Tony stayed behind to check up on the surviving Vice Kings to see how they were doing. Along the way, Ben noticed his sister looking at each wrecked building with cops and firefighters surrounding them. He touched her shoulder and asked, "You ok, Angie?"

She embraced him and wept, "We won. We did it. We took back our home."

"Hell yeah, we did. I'm so proud of you, sis. You really stepped up for this crew."

"I saw Julius over at the docks. I hope he's doing' okay."

"I saw him too. He's good."

"The history between you two is still strong, big bro. I mean, I understand why you two went your separate ways, but…"

"Let's just say we knew where we stood. He's got the Saints, and I got the Vice Kings."

"Fuck right, you do." Warren agreed, driving through the neighborhood. "Give us a couple years, and we'll own Stilwater, man; for real."

"Give it one step at a time, Warren." Ben made clear.

"Alright, I got you. Hey, Angela, sorry we didn't use your surprise on the high-rise building. That shit woulda been poetic."

Ben interrupted, "Hold on. Who is that?"

"Yo, that's Miles and Andy." Warren said pulling up to where they were.

The two Scouts walked in an exhausted manner on a sidewalk, trying to get some distance between them and the loft. All of a sudden, they noticed a yellow Sudan blinding them with its front lights and saw the three leaders out and about. Miles ran over to the car with relief, "Thank god y'all made it back in one piece."

"Are you good, homie?" Warren asked him.

"El Jefe and his fucking attack dog ambushed a bus full of civilians." Miles said looking over to Ben. "Your old man got to us before Lopez was about to execute us. He's over at the Loft."

"Is he alright?!" Angela desperately wanted to know.

"I'm sorry, I-I don't know." He replied.

"Don't worry about it, man." Ben said. "You kicked ass today, you and Andrew. Tony is rounding up what's left of the Kings over at Sloppy Seconds. You two get there and stay low until we meet up with you guys. Don't stop for anything."

"Cool, I got you. Be careful." Miles said running back over to Andy.

The Loft was six blocks from where they were. It was a straight shot on the road since there were no sirens heading up that way. Half of Monroe's precinct was making their quotas at the Docks and Shivington. When they finally got there, the neighborhood never felt quieter, like unnaturally quiet. The Gardens was the center of Sunnyvale with the Loft as its main playground for kids…and drug users. All three got out with rifles armed as they went inside.

Hiking up the six main floors, Ben and Angela kept calling out for their father, gradually getting nervous for not hearing a response. However, by the time they made it to the fourth floor, his response was loud and intimidating. Red flags decorated the old apartment rooms with blood and bullet holes. Some had their heads punctured and broke in two by shotgun blasts. "Damn, daddy still got the edge after all these years." Angela said to Ben, looking through each room.

Warren moved to the end of the fourth floor's hallway and noticed more dead bodies on the steps. The trail led them all the way up to the sixth floor where it showed a main pathway of broken windows overlooking the park in front of it. What they saw caused both of them to break down, seeing their father gutted and laying on the ground next to the man who stirred up the shit storm from the start. Alejandro looked up with glazed eyes and their father's blood all over his hands. He had no words to define his actions, just the look of a man with no "tell" on what might have done next.

The external sounds fleeted from Ben's ears as he saw Angela running over to her dad with Warren following her. He felt a thousand emotions cycling in his body at once, but when he looked directly at the bastard's eyes, he fired two shots at him. He took another five steps before letting off the entire mag, leaving Alejandro open for the rats to feed on. Suddenly, he dropped his rifle and looked over, and doing a double take on what happened, he cried out, "Dad, oh my fucking god!" Right then, he dropped to his knees and went to comfort his baby sister.

Angela held their dad close to her as she bawled her eyes out. The day went from struggling to stay alive to feeling dead inside. Eric died on his feet, as a King, Warren thought, but such thoughts went on deaf ears.

27


End file.
